Restitution
by Lael Adair
Summary: 1 The act of restoring to the rightful owner something that has been taken away, lost, or surrendered. 2 The act of making good or compensating for loss, damage, or injury. 3 A return to or restoration of a previous state or position. -complete-
1. Save Yourself

Here it is! The first chapter of what will (hopefully) be a very successful Zimfic. I've been working hard on it and I think it's going to be a good 'un. After you read, I invite you to check my livejournal page for all the **extras** on the chapter. The content varies, but by the time this story is done there should be a whole series of author's notes, fun facts, and deleted scenes for you guys.

I'd like to extend a big, HUGE thank you to my two awesome volunteer beta readers: **DelphinBella** and **thejennamonster.** If you're still looking for your daily Zimmage hit, I'd check their stories out, particularly "My Sanity for a House" and "Fake Plastic Life," respectively. Good stuff.

I'd love to hear what you guys think of this, positive, negative, or otherwise. Reviews, livejournal, email, IM, carrier pigeon, whatever. I'm flexible.

Before you start, just a **NOTICE: **Feels like an AU, smells like an AU, _tastes _like an AU, but it's not an Alternate Universe fic, I promise. (Don't worry, you'll believe me later.)

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-------------------- Restitution --------------------  
By: Lael Adair

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Chapter 1

Later, Dib would look back and wish he'd never gone to that party.

A lone guitar chord faded away into the night, giving way to the melodic yet droning voice of the graveyard-shift DJ. Sensing a commercial break, Dib's right hand instinctively drifted to the tuner dial. His eyes flitted briefly between the road and the radio as his efforts to find another station were met with nothing but soft static. Eventually he ended up back where he started, too soon to have avoided the advertisements. His hand fell back in its resting position upon the smooth knob of the gear shift. Finding this station had been a small miracle in and of itself. Usually he couldn't get any signals from the city way out here.

A road sign drifted into sight in the beam of the car's headlights. Guiding his silver Saturn ION almost mechanically, Dib turned left at the junction and crawled back up to a comfortable speed. He didn't bother using his turn signal. This gravel road was in the middle of nowhere, literally, and he'd driven it enough that he knew of every curve it made—not that there were many. Due to the farmland in the surrounding area the state-sanctioned road did its best to follow along property lines, meaning it remained straight for long stretches of time.

On either side of the road hundreds of acres of the corn stalks so common to Iowa swayed softly in a gentle night breeze. They weren't very tall yet. The plants were little more than a blur of green as they whisked by in the range of the headlights, but Dib could see the tops only came high enough to reach the bottom of his window on the side door. The sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires was audible for a moment as a gap in the radio broadcast signal bathed the car in silence. Then the music began again, encouraging him to settle back into his seat.

Normally Dib wasn't much of a partier. Maintaining a 3.8 GPA with a degree in nuclear physics wasn't getting easier as the semesters went on, and with only one year separating him from graduating at Iowa State University, he wanted to keep his record. His roommate, however, was another story.

His eyes drifted hopelessly for a moment to the passenger seat where a pale red-headed boy was dribbling a generous amount of drool onto the gray upholstery. Somehow Keef always knew _just_ what to say to get him to give in. This was the third time this month Dib had found himself promising to be the designated driver.

The party had been at a farmhouse a few hours from campus. Having been roommates since their sophomore year and friends for much longer, this wasn't the first time Dib or Keef had gone to this place. It was owned by the parents of one of Keef's friends who used it as a way to escape from life in the city. It was vacant most of the year, meaning it was a popular place for underage drinking. Dib hardly ever participated, but he knew Keef's friends and didn't mind being the DD every once and a while. The drive gave him a few good hours to think and escape from his studies.

The party ran later than Dib had been told, not that he wasn't expecting it. He knew Keef tended to tell people what they wanted to hear to get his way and then sort out the details later. At 3:47 the alcohol had run out. By four in the morning every vehicle in the driveway was gone. It had taken Dib nearly a half hour to physically coax Keef into the car. Most of that time had been spent getting him to stop shouting random exclamations back at the house—things such as "Woo! Party!" and "Stop following me!" After a bit of effort, however, Dib managed to get him inside and strapped in, at which point he had promptly fallen asleep. He hadn't moved since.

The clouds hovering far above parted, allowing the full moon that had been hidden in mist to shine at full strength. Dib's eyes drew upwards to take in the beauty of the virgin sky. In the city the light pollution was so severe it often made the night sky look like nothing more than a dull blanket of black tinged with brown. But out here the view was marred only by the light of the moon which was, in and of itself, part of the Tapestry. Dib had often thought that, were it not for his desire to be a scientist like his father, he would have liked to go into astronomy.

A sudden ring cut through the quiet car, making Dib jump and scramble for his cell phone on the top of the dashboard. He checked the screen for a brief moment to see who the call was from.

"Hey dad" he answered cheerily, both flipping the phone open and raising it to his ear in one smooth motion. Membrane barely waited for him to get the words out.

"SON! We've made an _amazing _breakthrough!"

Dib's heart sped up in his chest. He could almost _taste _the excitement in his father's voice. He gripped the phone a little tighter and raised himself up in his seat. "What?"

"The Super Cereal molecules! THEY'VE BONDED!"

"No way! That's GREAT!"

"With those Super Butter and Super Juice notes you've been putting together, the project is complete! We did it, son! We've _revolutionized _the entire breakfast experience!"

Dib was speechless. He'd been working closely with his father on this project for almost a year now. It was the first in which he was actually a paid member of the laboratory staff and not just an assistant.

"Dib" Membrane said carefully.

"Yeah?"

"I've given this a lot of thought…and I'd like to put your name on it, son."

Dib gasped and almost lost control of the car. "What! No, Dad! You _can't!_ This is your life dream!"

"No son. _You_ are my lifelong dream. My boy: the _scientist_."

"I don't know what to say…."

"You don't need to say anything. I am so very proud of you. I _knew _you had the potential if someone just set you in the right direction!"

Dib didn't know what that meant. He'd always wanted to be a scientist, like his father. "Dad, I….Thanks."

"No need. You can't start your own laboratory one day without having something _magnificent _to your name! This will be good practice for the day when you become _famous!_"

Famous...The idea made Dib dizzy with pride. He had always cherished praise from his father, but having his name and his name alone on a project? One Membrane had sacrificed a good portion of his life to achieve? It was staggering.

"Did you hear me Dib?"

"What? Huh? Sorry, I'm driving."

"—You need to practice more at that, son. Driving and talking on the phone hones your reflexes—"

"Yeah, okay." Dib quickly moved to change the subject before the conversation turned into a lecture. "How's the cleanup at the lab coming?"

A brief silence passed over the phone. The Membrane Laboratory Main Compound had a break in several weeks ago. The police had suspected it was a rival company seeking to steal information, though they'd been unable to find any physical evidence of how the intruders got in, how many there were, or how they managed to slip past the heightened security. No one had even noticed a crime had been committed until late the next morning when an intern had gone into the information storage room in the basement and discovered it in shambles. It took the cleanup crew almost an entire week before they were able to figure out what had been taken.

"It's moving along" Membrane said somewhat gloomily. Seeing damaged experiments always put a damper on his mood. However, like most of his dampers, it only lasted for a fraction of a second.

"Have they pinpointed the files that were taken?"

The reply was dismissive. "One or two physical files and a copy of the mainframe's data—hardly worth the disks it took to download them onto. We've got _bigger_ issues at hand! You'll need to come down for a weekend for the unveiling of the project, and I also need your research so it can be pooled with the rest of the data. I'd talk more with you on it now but I have _pressing_ matters vying for my attention!"

"All right. I'll call you sometime tomorrow. I love you."

There was an almost reverent pause. "I love you too, son."

The phone clicked off, leaving a slight ringing in Dib's ear. He smiled to himself and glanced down at the screen, just to make sure he hadn't imagined the whole conversation. His father's number shone back at him clear as day. He chuckled to himself as he glanced at the total call time. 10:24—a family record.

The thought stifled the smile on his lips, turning it into a thoughtful slant instead. A heavy air settled over the car as he stared vacantly at the screen.

He knew he should call her. They hadn't talked in so long...but this was a big event. She deserved to know.

He dialed the number fast before he lost his nerve. Within seconds the line was ringing. Dib put the phone up to his ear and swallowed, waiting for her to pick up.

"Yeah, what?"

Her voice was the same. It was older and a little deeper, but even with the phone distortion it was unmistakable. He was shocked at how hearing it still had the power to make him cringe.

"Gaz…it's me. Dib."

Silence.

"Look I...Normally I wouldn't call. I mean I know that we haven't...I just wanted to call and tell you...we did it. The project's a success. I just got off the phone with Dad and he said the molecules bonded. He even said he was going to put my name to the results!"

"I don't care. How many times do I have to tell you, Dib, I don't _care_ what you're doing...Especially with dad."

He sighed. "Yeah, well. I just thought—"

"No you don't. You never think. You're stupid—and that's your problem."

The phone went dead. Dib couldn't pretend it didn't hurt as the dial tone punctuated the end of Gaz's sentence. He pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped the top shut, tossing it onto the dashboard. The cell phone hit the side and bounced off, landing somewhere over near Keef's feet. Dib didn't bother trying to retrieve it. His hands were already back on the wheel as he focused his eyes on the road—his eyes, but not his thoughts.

Gaz had grown worse over the years. All siblings fought, that was a law of nature, but their battles had become increasingly less innocent as time had stretched on. In the beginning Dib was able to match her almost blow for blow by the sheer amount of mischief he was given genetically. They were small things that every little boy did to his kid sister growing up. Most of the time Gaz would return with her own brand of childish deviltry. But before long things began to change.

When Dib turned eleven, Professor Membrane began to encourage him to spend more time in the laboratory in their house's basement. It was then that Gaz's removed teasing took a decidedly sinister turn. Pranks became name-calling. Name-calling became humiliation. Humiliation turned into hitting. Hitting became fights. And fights evolved into hate.

When Dib was seventeen Gaz had struck him with a hot welding electrode he'd been working with in the garage, giving him a permanent scar on the right side of his neck just underneath the ear. Now, at sixteen and twenty, they could barely be in the same room without erupting into a fight. It wasn't until Dib had gotten away from her, the house, that life, that he'd figured out the reason behind it all.

Gaz was jealous. She _resented_ the close relationship he had with their father and, for some reason, had come to express it physically. Once Dib moved away to college he'd severed almost all contact with the house. He hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words with his sister in three years, and even those had held a frightening amount of spite underneath. It is said that no one can hate like family. Dib could have told the person who wrote _that _stunning gem all about it by the time he was twelve.

A sudden flash of light pulled him away from his thoughts. Stealing a glance in his rearview mirror, he was shocked to see a car traveling about a quarter-mile behind him.

It was strange that he hadn't noticed it. This part of the state was incredibly flat. Even though it was dark, Dib still had a good view of everything on the road for a long distance, especially lights.

He blinked and checked his rearview mirror again. He could have sworn there wasn't anyone behind him only moments ago, but the bright headlights shining into his car said differently. "I must have spaced out" he muttered. He turned his eyes forward to make a conscious effort to pay attention. If he crashed out here nobody would find them for years.

He was just reaching his hand to the radio again to avoid listening to another commercial when he heard the sound of an engine gearing up behind him. When he looked he noticed that the car following on the road had sped up, placing it within a few hundred feet of his rear bumper. Dib squinted his eyes as the white light grew stronger in intensity, bathing his dashboard and mirrors in a painful glare.

"You've got your brights on, moron" he groused under his breath at the car. He could see now from the size of the lamps that the vehicle was a larger one, probably a truck or van. At the back of his mind it registered as a little odd that a truck would be going so fast on this road. The only people that lived out here were farmers, and Dib had never pictured them as the type to be wild drivers. If he wanted to battle with some lunatic on the road he would have stayed in the city...

The car continued to gain, accelerating at a steady pace. Dib kept his speed level. He had no idea where someone would be going in such a hurry at 4am, but he wished they would do it without shining their brights into his face. Even with his eyes on the road the reflection from the mirrors was making it hard to see. He assumed once the truck got close enough it would move into the side lane to pass him. The seconds ticked by but the light never left. The vehicle was slowing to match his speed. It stopped at what could only have been a couple feet from the back of his bumper and chose to stay there, hovering.

"Pass!"

Minute after minute, the truck did not comply. Grumbling to himself, Dib sped up slightly, pushing his car into the upper 60 mile-per-hour range in hopes of putting some distance between the two of them. When he glanced up again he felt a discerning shiver travel down his spine.

The truck was following him.

Easily matching his speed, the other driver had sped up as well and was now inching even closer to his rear. Blinking at the dark spots that were forming over his eyes from staring into the headlights, Dib angled his rearview mirror up and snapped on his own brights. Once a source of comfort, the radio in the background became an annoying distraction. Dib turned the knob down so the music was nothing more than white noise.

"Why am I so jumpy?" he asked aloud.

His hands tightened with a dry creek around the gray leather steering wheel.

"This road only goes one way, Dib. It's not like the guy has a _choice _whether he wants to follow you or not…."

He glanced at the speedometer—seventy-five...and the truck was still tailgating. It was something about the headlights, he realized, that made him uneasy. They weren't the normal shape or color that was on most vehicles. Instead of spaced on the opposite sides of the hood with a few feet between them, the two perfectly circular bulbs were centered almost directly in the middle. The light they gave off was neon white with a feint tinge of purple to it, and was unnaturally steady for a car traveling over a rough gravel road. Dib began to get the sensation that he had seen them before...somewhere...

"This is stupid. He can't jump out and get me at seventy-five miles an hour. As long as I don't stop, I'll be good."

The words brought some comfort to Dib, but the driver following him seemed to have something else in mind. The truck jumped into the left lane. Literally.

Dib wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He was shocked at how precisely the vehicle was able to move sideways at over seventy-five miles an hour. One minute it was on the right, and then suddenly it moved in a perfect line and stopped on the left without so much as a sway.

His heart beat faster as he heard it accelerate with a roar. Now that the driver was finally passing, Dib wasn't so sure he was thrilled with the idea.

He caught a quick flash of some reddish/magenta paint job out of the corner of his eye as the nose of the car edged alongside him. He turned his head to shoot a brief glare at the other driver but only saw his own reflection. The truck's windows had been covered with some sort of pink iridescent film that made it impossible to see into the cab. There was something strange about the way it sloped in a dome over the front of the car, but Dib didn't have time to think about it. Mere seconds after he glanced over there was a soft exploding noise and then the truck shot forward as if propelled by a rocket.

"No way..."

The rest of his sentence was mutated into a gasp of surprise as the headlights that had been following him for so long turned in an impossibly tight circle and then barreled straight for his car. Dib cried out and yanked the wheel hard to the left. A thundering _whoosh _of air shot past the passenger side as he just barely avoided a head-on collision.

He stole a glance into the passenger seat to make sure Keef was okay and then slammed on the clutch and downshifted, revving his poor engine as high as it could go. A thick cloud closed in over the moon, plunging the scene into darkness save for the headlights on the cars. Already Dib could hear the truck's bizarre thrumming engine growing louder and louder from behind him. He continued to push his car towards its maximum speed but quickly realized it was not going to help him escape. His pursuer would just be able to match him mile for mile. Not to mention the truck was bigger and heavier than Dib's Saturn. If he was rammed at these speeds...

Dib glanced nervously in the rearview mirror again and weighed his options. There were no turnoffs on this road. They were in the middle of the country and the only inhabitants were separated from each other by miles and miles of land. He didn't want to think about it, but he was beginning to wonder if he could really stop what his pursuer was intending to do.

His eyes shifted to the road. The gravel he was driving on left few tracks. If he was kidnapped or worse and anyone even found his car at all, they'd have no clue what happened to him. Better to leave a clear sign for the authorities to follow.

His decision made, Dib turned the wheel to the right, hard, and sped directly into the corn field. An abandoned car on a deserted country road wouldn't draw much attention, but Dib was willing to bet a ton of tire tracks in some poor farmer's crops would catch an eye or two.

The plants were young, meaning Dib was able to drive through them relatively easily. He heard the truck gun its engine to catch up to him and then felt something pushing against his back bumper. The tires began to pull hard on the steering wheel beneath his hands. The truck driver was turning his own wheel in an attempt to force Dib into a fishtail.

Dib countered by adjusting the wheel to maintain control and then swerving violently to the right. A shower of dirt and grass cascaded out from his car's tires in a giant arc. Working the clutch and gear shift furiously, Dib maneuvered his car in a precise circle and then took off in the first direction that came to him.

The driver of the truck took much longer to catch up to him this time. Dib fought to keep his head as level as his hand working the gear shift. The corn stalks parting before his car like the Red Sea gave him no visibility. His eyes constantly darted back and forth in the beam of the headlights to check for obstacles. The last thing he needed was to hit a tractor or a plow...although he wouldn't mind hitting a house...

The truck came at him from the right side this time. Dib's hands tightened in a death grip around the wheel as the Saturn jolted roughly with the impact on the passenger door. The sick sound of contacting metal reverberated through the car's frame. He had no choice but to turn the wheel into the truck to keep from flipping over as he was pushed effortlessly on a tangent. At first Dib thought the other driver was trying to slow him down, but then the two of them burst through a particularly high wall of corn stalks and he found himself back on the road.

The truck was gone.

Dib's breath came in frantic gasps as he scanned for any sign of the crazed driver, but there was nothing around him but night. He turned the radio all the way off to listen for another engine over his own. Silence.

"That's impossible!"

Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep at the wheel?

No. It was real. He could feel the car running roughly on the right side from where he had been rammed. Gripping the wheel with white knuckles, Dib risked a quick glance over his shoulder through the back window. Darkness swallowed everything the second it passed from his headlights' humble beam of light. Taking a deep breath, he turned back around, readjusting himself in his seat, and then gasped when he saw the truck directly in front of him.

There was nothing Dib could have done to save himself. He tried. He hit the brakes and turned right, causing the Saturn to skid sideways, but all it did was give him a perfect view of the metal magenta wall that was about to splatter his guts like a bug. Dib screamed, saw a bright flash of bluish light, and then fell into darkness.


	2. Frenetic Amnesic

Da da daaa! Chapter 2 for your reading pleasure.

First, a very important **ANNOUNCEMENT:** _This story will be finished._ I promise.  
I know it's hard to fully believe me when I say that. I know you've been burned so many times by other fan authors that the scars on your minds run fifty wide and ten deep. I can see them from here. I can show you my own. However, I'm hoping I can offer a small comfort by saying that I don't start things that I don't intend to finish. My stories are always "written" before the first chapter ever gets posted here, they're just in outline form. So you can trust me when I say you're safe :-) But please don't let that stop you from making comments, by any means! I have the story planned out, yes, but I am _always _tweaking and changing it. I'm never too good for suggestions. And speaking of suggestions...

There are a few thank-you's I need to pass out before we get to the good stuff. First and foremost, thank you to everyone who reviewed for Chapter 1. I got lots of compliments that told me what I'm doing right and a few suggestions to make things better. Don't ever be afraid to say anything on your mind in your reviews or emails or IMs or whatever. I'm eager to hear all of it.

Secondly, and as always, a huge thank-you goes out to my two awesome beta readers **thejennamonster **and **Delphinbella**—you guys rock. I'm sure the readers will be delighted to know that this chapter has received the seal of approval from two, count 'em, two talented writers, which makes us all feel safer.

And thirdly, I'd like to thank the inventor of the "insert" key—a keyboard function that, when hit by accident (which is the only time it _ever _gets hit) allows me to write over all of my hard work without realizing it. Thanks. I'm sure I'll be appreciating that any day now.

As always, my livejournal will have the **extras **stuff on this chapter a day or so after it's posted here. Head on over there to check it out if you're interested. The URL is at the bottom of my ffnet profile.

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Chapter 2

Reality returned to Dib very slowly, wrapped in a bundle of incoherent thoughts and sensations. Frozen in the last few minutes before oblivion, the terror still lingered like a bad hangover in his brain. He had a hard time finding himself. His body almost seemed detached from his mind, as if it existed in one world while he was stuck in another. For several seconds his ability to think was limited to only a small string of random signals he distinguished through the haze. He could feel the weight of his own head hanging heavily on his neck, telling him he was sitting up. The force pushing insistently against his chest reminded him that he was in his car, safely secured by his seatbelt. He remembered the date. He remembered he had been driving home from a party. He remembered a pair of bright purple lights. And then he remembered the truck.

The world rushed quickly into focus as his mind began to pick up speed, except now it was going too fast. A hundred thoughts raced through his head at once but he couldn't seem to make himself follow any of them. He wanted to open his eyes, he wanted to move, he wanted to check himself for injuries, he wanted to check the other driver, he wanted to call the police, he wanted to call his dad, he wanted to examine his car, but all he could do was sit. And then after several seconds one small thought managed to break through the confusion and finally get him to pay attention to the movement in his lap.

He froze.

Something was _sitting _on him! Peaked by his alarm, all of his senses honed in on the thing as it shifted its position. Once again his brain seemed to scatter beneath a wave of uncertainty and fear. He found himself sitting even stiffer than before, as unable to move as he was to think. He tried not to flinch as he felt the thing lean forwards towards his body and brush lightly against his chest as it traced curiously along his seatbelt. The tense moments that followed gave Dib an opportunity to finally realize how utterly silent his surroundings were. There was no hiss of steam from the wrecked vehicles, no clinking metal, not even the sound of crickets in the background. He did hear a slight humming that almost sounded like electrical equipment, but nothing reached his ears that indicated at an accident.

The sound of metal brushing against metal brought his attention back to the thing in his lap. He realized it was interested in the buckle on his seatbelt at his right hip. There were a few more scraping sounds as it examined the device and then, finally, a slight pressure on the button. Chaos exploded.

The belt yanked back into its holster with a painfully loud _SNAP_! All at once, he opened his eyes and both he and the thing screamed and pushed back in different directions. Dib ended up flying out of his open car door and landing hard in a sitting position on the ground. The thing propelled itself somewhere in the car that he couldn't see. Within seconds it had bolted back to its feet and was standing on the ground in front of him, looking at him in a mixture of awe and wonder.

He saw at once that it was neither animal nor human. It was...a robot—a rather small one with cylinders for appendages and a cup-shaped head. Its large blue eyes took up the majority of its face and were accented by similar blue highlights on its body.

"You weren't mooooving."

Dib pulled back as the machine leaned forward into his face with the word. He then jerked, startled, as it shot its pincer-like hands up without warning and placed them flat on his temples. There was a feint processing noise from within its chest and then it shifted its hands to the top and bottom of his head. Its eyes grew as wide as saucers as a big open-mouthed grin split its face practically in two. "Big-headed boy!"

"My head's not..."

Dib trailed off. He'd started talking without realizing it. He wasn't even sure why he'd said anything. It had just...felt right.

The machine was obviously excited to see him; it was now hopping quickly from one foot to the other, babbling faster than he could follow. He found it impossible to catch everything it was saying but he did manage to hear "Master" and "happy" and something about "pigs." Then it slowed down and started spewing random questions at him.

"Why were you sleeping? Where've ya been? Do you have my piggy? Wanna make cookies? Are you here to see Master? Cheeeeeeeeese!"

He found he wasn't fascinated by a robot that was able to talk with such personality. He wasn't amazed by its ability to show facial expressions despite the fact that it was nothing more than a pile of metal and programming. He didn't ask how its legs and arms functioned without being connected to its body. On the contrary, he tuned it out almost instantly, and only for a second did he wonder why such a marvel of science didn't impress him.

By a quick glance around him, he discovered he was sitting on a silver metal floor in the middle of what looked to be some kind of strange...car garage maybe? The walls around him, colored a deep magenta, curved upwards as they reached towards the ceiling, forming a gentle sloping dome that peaked at about thirty feet overhead. A tangled nest of sinister-looking black tentacles coated every surface, covering the walls with layers of metallic vines. Computers and other strange mechanical apparatuses decorated the winding branches like perverse flowers. He could both smell and feel the presence of electricity as it hung heavy and crisp in the charged air. A small, insistent feeling of deja vu pulled at the back of Dib's mind.

With a slight groan he finally stood to his feet. The little blue droid took a brief reprieve from asking questions to utter a long, impressed "ooooo" sound as it watched him extend to his full height. Glancing downward, he could see that he dwarfed it by a good few feet.

As he moved to stretch out his back he took a moment to wonder how his car had even gotten in here. There was only one entrance to the room—a small rounded doorway far to his left which opened up into a similarly-shaped hall. The path curved sharply to the right after only a few feet, giving no clue as to what lay beyond. His Saturn was sitting in the dead center of the large circular floor, as if some giant hand had opened up the ceiling and simply deposited it there. He felt stupid but he looked upwards to check for one. When he didn't see anything he turned reluctant eyes to his car, though nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

For a few moments all Dib could do was just stand there, staring. Then—as human beings are so often inclined—he stepped forward to touch what he didn't believe.

There was no damage to his car. None. The sides were dirty and the tires were a little frayed from racing over the rough gravel on the road, but aside from that it looked just as it was supposed to.

"There is no way" he found himself saying aloud. "I _broadsided_ that truck! The door, no, the entire side of the car should at least be dented in, if not crushed!"

He walked around the car once, making a note of the scratches on the passenger side door, and then stood blankly for a moment as his brain tried to wrap itself around the apparent repeal of the laws of physics.

"What's going—" he turned around to ask the small machine that had been standing behind him, but it wasn't there. A stifled giggle brought his attention to the inside of the car.

The robot was sitting on Keef's lap, staring intently into the unconscious student's face. "Hi!" it shrieked, waving its arms frantically. "Wanna make waffles with me! Or bacon!" It then stole a sideways glance and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "_Surprise _bacon!"

Dib sighed. He'd forgotten about his roommate. Luckily Keef was still strapped snugly in his seat, though his head was now turned away leaving it looking out the passenger window.

"I wouldn't sit in front of his face if I were you" Dib warned the robot as he slid into the driver's seat. He glanced curiously at the keys still in the ignition and then asked, "Did you shut the car off?"

The robot wasn't listening. It was too busy giggling and poking Keef in the face.

Raising a tentative hand to the steering column, Dib took a deep breath and turned. "Please please please..." The car roared to life. "Yes!"

"Yes!" a high-pitched voice from the side echoed him as he turned off the engine. The droid gave a squinty-eyed smile and then turned its attention back to playing with Keef's face.

"Come on, will you knock that off?"

"Aww, but we's gonna have a tea party. He turns funny colors."

"What?"

Dib wasn't sure what made him do it. Maybe it was what the robot said, maybe it was how it said it, or maybe somewhere in his mind he just...knew. But for whatever reason, he immediately turned his eyes downward to Keef's fingertips. A knife formed in his stomach when he realized how unnaturally blue they were. On impulse, he reached to touch them. They were ice cold.

"Oh no..."

In a flash he was out of the car and standing on the other side, yanking the passenger door open so hard it dislocated on the hinge. If he hadn't known something was wrong before, seeing Keef's face would have confirmed it. His skin was pale and his lips had turned a dark shade of blue.

"Keef, wake up!"

"Wake up!" the robot echoed him again with a giggle. Dib shoved it out of the way to get to his friend. He had often been the one to stay with Keef when the parties ended and everyone left. As such, he had quite a bit of practice taking care of drunks, but this was something he had never seen before. For lack of a better idea he lifted up one of the closed eyelids. The robot did the same with the other.

It was hard to tell if anything was wrong. Keef had always had very interesting red eyes. They had no pupils and were so vacant they were almost uncomfortable to look at, which was something that made many people shy away from him. It had never bothered Dib. Being rich and smart he hadn't always been the most popular person in existence either, but now he wished there was something he could use to get a sign, something to tell himself that the diagnosis tugging insistently at the front of his mind was dead wrong.

"Get off him!" he ordered. "GET OFF HIM!"

The robot scurried to comply as he leaned forward to undo Keef's seatbelt. Working to be as gentle as possible, he slipped his arms around his friend's torso in a secure embrace and then dragged him out of the car to lay him flat on his back on the ground. The droid quickly hopped out and stood over the scene, as excited as ever with this new turn of events. Dib had to keep shooing it away as it tried to poke Keef in various places. Then the questions started.

"Why's he blue? Whatcha doin'? We gonna make waffles soon? Whassamatter?"

"Alcohol poisoning" he muttered absentmindedly. He was sure of it. Working without direction his mind scrambled to pull forward every sliver of information it could on the subject. He started rattling them off out loud without realizing it. "If you drink too much it gets absorbed into the blood—saturates the brain. Slow breathing, unconsciousness, blue extremities...danger of choking on vomit. We have to get him on his side! Help me!"

The robot took the command as permission to resume its poking. Working largely by himself, Dib quickly turned Keef and leaned him against the car's tires to keep his airways clear in the event he threw up. The two of them had always joked about how lame it would be to go out by drowning on their own vomit. It didn't seem as funny now.

A bulge in Keef's right front pocket suddenly caught Dib's attention as he was leaning back on his heels, causing him to remember that they both carried cell phones. Unfortunately, as he reached for it, he managed to catch the little robot's attention.

"Oooooo!" it cooed, grabbing him before he could pull his arm away. It was amazingly strong. "Shiny!"

"Let go! It's just a cell phone!"

"I wanna see!"

"Stop!"

It took all of his strength to pull his arm out of the machine's hands, and even then it just leapt onto his lap and tried to snatch it away. He was barely able to get a hand on its chest before it slammed into his face. Working hard to keep it at bay with one arm, he flipped open the top of Keef's Motorola and tried to get a look at the bars. The depressing message of _No Signal_ greeted him on the welcome screen just seconds before the phone and his fist disappeared into the robot's mouth.

"Oh _sick_!"

Dib instantly snapped his hand away in disgust. It was covered in drool all the way up to his wrist.

The machine seemed happy enough. It giggled at him as best it could around the cell phone in its mouth and began to hum teasingly while it hopped on one foot.

"Fine!" he shouted in frustration. "Take it! But stay out of my way! Why don't you go...sit in the car or something!"

"KAY!"

And just like that, the machine toddled over, plopped into the passenger seat, and nestled down to suck on its prize.

Dib pushed it out of his mind immediately. He needed another phone. Quickly, he leapt to his feet to retrieve his own from the car. For several seconds he passed his arm in giant sweeps across the top of the dashboard trying to feel for it until he remembered it had bounced off earlier. He was just about to pull his arm away when he brushed against something resting deep in one of the corners on the dash.

His sophomore year of college, Dib had been mugged walking back to his dorm room from a routine study session at the library. He hadn't been hurt badly—just punched a couple of times—but the thugs had made off with his stuff, among which was a brand new laptop computer. From then on he'd always made sure to carry a knife with him. It was mostly a placebo. He wasn't the type of person who knew how to use a weapon like that, much less use it on someone else, but it made him feel safe.

Determinedly, he picked up the knife sheathed safely within its black leather case and slid it into his back pocket. He wasn't exactly sure why he bothered taking it. He just had a strange feeling he'd be grateful for it later.

"Hopefully I'll get a signal" he muttered nervously to himself, backing out of the car once he had found the phone.

_No Signal._

He dropped his arm to the side with a frustrated sigh and then glanced hopelessly at his roommate.

"Now what?"

They needed a hospital. Depending on how much alcohol Keef's blood had absorbed, his life could be in danger. Dib knew every second he spent standing here was another one counting against them, and there was too much interference from the wires and electronics covering the walls to place a call. He didn't even have the slightest idea where he—

His thoughts cut off abruptly when he thought he heard something.

"Hello! Is anyone there!"

His desperate voice bounced off the cold metal walls and echoed back to him, haunting and alone. He waited for several seconds after the final echo died away, and then he heard it again.

Footsteps.

He turned towards the hallway, taking a step towards it. "Hello!" he called again. It was definitely coming from there. In fact, he could already see the beginnings of a shadow forming on the curve of the wall.

A cacophony of emotions seemed to explode within him at once. He was overjoyed, of course, that another living thing was coming to help him...but at the same time something was clawing at his mind with icy fingers, screaming warnings at him. He did his best to brush it aside as he knelt next to Keef.

"I'm sorry about intruding" he said to the shadow growing ever-larger in the distance. The apology sounded stupid to him. His roommate was here possibly dying on the floor and all he could do was worry about trespassing. He wasn't at all playing the calm collected role he had always seen himself in a situation such as this, but talking had always been Dib's way of coping with life, so he continued to babble without much of a care for what he was saying. "I'll make up for it later, I promise; it's just my friend's very sick. I need to get him to the hospital and our phones aren't working. Maybe if you—"

He stopped in mid-sentence when his reply from the hallway finally came. The icy fingers increased their thrashing as he listened. It took him a few seconds to process the sound reaching his ears, mostly due to disbelief, but eventually he heard the laughter floating over the ever-present sound of footsteps in the hallway.

The sound had a curious effect on the two sides of Dib's brain that seemed to have been warring ever since he saw those strange headlights in his rearview mirror. One side—the side that encompassed ninety percent of his conscious thought—was enraged at what he was hearing. But the other side—the side that was buried so far into his mind he barely even felt its presence—was warning him about that laugh. It whispered things to him he didn't entirely understand. It told him to run. It told him the _thing_ traipsing down that hallway was something dangerous. It told him he needed to be ready to fight. It told him he should take cover and ambush it—**KILL **it—before it had time to draw a breath once it stepped into the room. It made him begin to reach for the knife tucked in his back pocket…

He snapped out of the trance, jerking his hand away from his thigh in horror. What was he _doing!_ This wasn't the time to be paranoid! Keef needed his help.

Wielding every iota of willpower he possessed in his body, Dib forced himself to stay kneeling on the ground and wait for his mystery visitor to come. As the shadow grew larger against the wall and the laughter grew louder, he tried to silence the dread stripping his mind bare with its cold nails…and tried to forget how easy of a target he made kneeling like this in the open.


	3. Remember Me

Normally I don't apologize profusely for taking a long time on chapters. This time, I will.

I, Lael Adair, do hereby offer an official, profuse apology for taking so long in getting this chapter out. It's only seven pages. I honestly don't know what the heck was wrong with me. I was just so busy with schoolwork and graduation and trying to find a job that I think it sapped my writing mojo. _All _of it. The words just...wouldn't...come.

Anyway, in hindsight it's a really good thing I waited because the end result is _so _much better than what you guys were going to get for about, oh, 85 percent of the creation process. The beta readers will definitely _not _recognize any of this.

Speaking of which, as always two HUGE thank-you's go out to my awesome, beautiful, and all-around talented beta readers: **DelphinBella** and **thejennamonster.** This time around Ms. Monster needs some extra love for discussing pieces of the chapter with me and giving me a few pokes in the ribs where I was being stupid. (I know. Me? Stupid? Shocking.)

On that same note, the **Extras **for this chapter on my livejournal should be particularly entertaining because I'm thinking I'll include the awful first drafts the betas were subjected to. Just so you can pity them for having to read it. And also because I think the writing process is interesting. Head on over there in the next couple days if you want to check it out, along with some author's notes and fun facts about the chapter. Feel free to comment on the entries too or to submit your thoughts via email or IM or reviews or wherever you feel most comfortable. I love feedback in all shapes, sizes, and colors!

Ok, that's it. Except for the part where I say that none of these characters are mine and I'm doing this just because I'm a masochist...I mean because I love it!

* * *

Chapter 3

"Hello _Dib._" 

The name stretched forth like a grim mist through the room, choking and silencing everything it touched through the mere force of _hate _with which it had been spoken. It is amazing how much information one simple phrase can carry with only the elements of inflection and tone to guide it. The words spoke of an intimate familiarity, an intimate _history_ that was impossible for even Dib to ignore. He found his mind instantly flooded by a rush of images he had long thought his scientific brain incapable of producing: An old woman in a hooded cloak. A garden gnome with bulging eyes. His sister standing in the rain. Spiders. Hundreds of mechanical spiders. And lastly, his father as a phantom, with long gleaming claws and a thick cloud of spectral smoke billowing about his feet. The pictures pulled _desperately_ at him, _begging _for him to listen to something important they had to say. Unfortunately, by that point the speaker had already stepped into the room, and their pleas became lost as Dib stood to his feet and made his very first, very dangerous mistake.

"You're a kid!"

He began to rationalize.

The child was short, barely a few inches taller than the robot still sitting contentedly within the car. It stood in an unnaturally rigid fashion with its arms held disciplined and straight at its sides, though Dib sensed this was not from a conscious effort. Long black gloves, boots, and a dress-like purple shirt worked together in unison to conceal every possible inch of skin from the neck down. Dib couldn't say he blamed the kid for covering itself so completely. Though its clothes were outlandishly eccentric, they did little to take away from the obvious deformity that had tainted its skin a vivid green. The condition seemed familiar. Dib thought he remembered encountering it somewhere before when he was younger...perhaps in a book his father had given him? The text may also have mentioned the formation of two antenna-like stalks at the back end of the skull. He tried his best not to stare, but despite his attempts he found himself mesmerized by the child's strange appearance, mostly due to its _eyes._ He'd never heard of anything, disease or otherwise, that could swallow the eye so completely in a flood of rich, vibrant color. He determined the kid had to be wearing some kind of specialized contacts. The illusion was just too real.

The child's..."antennae"...flattened slightly against its skull as it listened to Dib's response float back to it from across the room. The logic of the statement deadened the atmosphere almost on impact, sucking the life out of the theatrical malice that had been hanging in the air. A cold silence stretched between them until...

"I have to admit, human. Even _I _didn't think you were _that _stupid."

Dib's eyes widened at the harsh remark before a frown settled onto his lips. A curious streak of anger sparked abruptly, almost _readily_ to life in his veins. Cheeky little brat. "Er, right. Are your parents here?"

The child's eyes narrowed. Again, it took its time before answering. "You think you're safe" it hissed beneath its breath. The low loathing in its voice raked like gravel across its vocal chords. "You have always thought you were safe...haven't you?"

"I—"

"HAVEN'T YOU!"

The force of the shout sent Dib retreating a step. The kid was such a tiny, frail looking thing but its voice held a resonating _power _that demanded obedience. Though Dib recognized the question was meant to be rhetorical, he almost found himself answering just because he felt he had been commanded to. He soon realized he needn't have worried. The child was all too eager to do most of the talking.

"Did you _really _think that after what you did I wouldn't find you? That I wouldn't _hunt _you down and _find_ you?" It was almost a snarl. Dib could feel the emotion behind it hovering closed in the throat, barely contained. "Well you are wrong...oh how much wrong you are. _You _started this, human. And regardless of the lengths I am forced to go through I promise you _Zim _will be the one to finish it."

Zim. The name struck a chord, though Dib couldn't be sure where or why. For a moment he contemplated trying to play along with this "Zim" kid's game, but as he opened his mouth to answer he realized he was too lost to even think of anything convincing. Since lying was out of the picture, he was left with only one choice: "Kid...I seriously have _no _clue what you're talking about."

To his surprise Zim seemed to understand. The child straightened with a private snarl and clasped his hands behind his back as he rotated sharply to the left. With furrowed brows he began to walk in a slow, wide circle around the room, eyes on the floor. Actually, 'walk' may have been an improper term for it. Dib noticed it was more of a...march. The legs were bent, but the steps were even and rhythmic.

"Yes, I know" Zim said clinically. "A situation that, regrettably, I am going to have to rectify." His gaze slid shrewdly to the side, accompanied with a sneer that, while skewed and partially obscured by a rectangular face, was still decisively evil. "But don't worry. I will make sure you don't live long enough afterwards to enjoy any of it."

A warning stab shot through Dib's stomach. He brushed it aside. "Was...that a threat?"

Zim whirled on his heels. "What's the matter, _Dib_!" he snapped, biting the last word off with a teasing flip. "Been wallowing in your putrid confusion for so long you've forgotten what a threat sounds like?" He grimaced in disgust, showing a row of grotesque, zipper-like teeth as he nodded tellingly towards the car occupying the center of the room. "You stand there like a drooling Xarophax from Sector Nine but it seems you haven't forgotten how to _run._ There's still enough fear left in that pathetic mushy brain of yours to know when it is Zim behind you."

The truck! Dib's fists clenched at his sides. "I was _not _afraid of you!" he shot back. For some reason he felt that was important to stipulate. "It's called defensive driving! I was going, like, seventy and you were right behind my—" He cut off. "Wait a minute! Why am I talking to you! You can't drive! You're not even tall enough to see without a car seat!"

Zim bristled indignantly. "Insolent fleshpig! You think I didn't know your species grew so tall! I was EXPECTING it! Yes! ZIM was expecting it all along! But it does not make you _superior!_ It does not make you _better _than me! If anything it will cost you the most." His tone turned dark. "I may _look _like nothing more than a wormbaby in comparison to you now, but at least this time I won't have to pretend and constrain myself to such..._ridiculous _trivialities. No. _This _time, you would be wise to exercise more caution around me, _Dib._"

Again came that _contempt_, that _disgust _with the word. "How do you know my name?"

Zim smirked mirthlessly out the side of his mouth and closed his large eyes for a moment. "Dib, Dib, Dib-Dib-Dib….How could I _forget _that name." The eyes opened into slits. "You worthless cheating cyclical humany...HUMAN!"

"Cyclical?"

"SILENCE!" Zim paused for several seconds to make sure his command was obeyed. Then, returning his hands to their place behind his back, he resumed his steady pacing. "I ought to crush you where you stand."

The words were harsh, but the tone was empty and pensive. Dib suddenly felt awkward as he watched the child walk around him. Awkward...and a little guilty. "Are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else?" he offered.

Zim glanced over in brief acknowledgement before returning his eyes to the floor. "Oh do not play that trick with _me_, earth monkey. I _know _it is you. Pale, scrawny, with those _stupid _glasses and that _stupid_ trench coat and that _stupid_ pointy hair! No amount of progression along your _disgusting _human lifeline would ever change you enough to hide you from Zim! I have spent the better part of nearly two Earth _years _catching up to where you left me. I assure you there has been no mistake."

"Two...two _years?_ You've been _stalking _me?"

Zim stopped to face him. "Poor, simple Dib." His hand reached fluidly around his lower back to bring a small object into view. "If only you knew...It would have been so easy to just strangle the life out of you."

It took Dib several seconds to recognize the gold gleam of metal rolling between the child's fingers. When he finally realized what Zim was holding up to show him, he gasped in shock and glanced down at his right hand. Sure enough, the gold ring that he always wore on his middle finger was gone.

"Hey! How did you get that?"

"It was not difficult." The disappointment in Zim's voice was hard to miss. With a careless flick of his wrist, he sent the ring sailing in a neat arc across the room.

Dib caught it deftly in the air and took a few moments to examine it for scratches before returning it to its rightful place on his finger. Zim must have copped it while he was unconscious. Dirty little—

"I cannot imagine any female would choose _you _as a mate, Dib."

Dib scowled at the offhanded jeer. The ring he wore was special, but not in that way. It wasn't even his. It was his father's college ring—received as a present when Dib graduated valedictorian from high school and announced his intentions to pursue a degree in the sciences. To the observer the well-worn circle of metal was merely jewelry, but between Dib and Professor Membrane it was a physical representation of the bond they shared. It was the pride the Professor held in his son. It was Dib's dreams of fulfilling the family legacy. Zim obviously wasn't aware it sat on the wrong hand and had assumed it to be a wedding ring. It was an honest enough mistake, but Dib wasn't sure he liked the sarcasm in the little psychopath's tone.

_I could get laid if I wanted to._

He bit back the insistence before it could escape him. Why did he feel he had to justify himself to this kid?

Zim watched, obviously waiting for the jeer to be returned. Dib maintained an even glare but stubbornly refused to speak, despite how uncomfortable it was. Civilized people in grown-up societies didn't usually cope well with silence. Consequently, on the inside Dib fidgeted and writhed as the awkward lull quickly grew into a battle of wills. But externally he remained still. He could outlast this.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, his mind was not so constrained. Thousands of questions and speculations raced fervently to fill the silence in his head. Everything about this, about the chase and the robot and the kid, was beginning to feel vaguely familiar—_especially _the kid. The longer Dib looked at it the more he began to think that he _did_ know it from somewhere...But the longer it talked the more he thought it was nuts, and the more he thought _he _was nuts for listening. Then a horrible thought occurred to him: _Maybe I'm going crazy._

At last, Zim seemed to have enough of the quiet. His bottom lip jutted outward in an angry pout, displaying a row of unnaturally white teeth against his unnaturally green skin. "You're different."

The words stabbed through the air like knives, bitter and accusing. Dib sighed. "I keep trying to tell you I'm not" he answered. "You're confused."

Without warning, Zim's hands suddenly broke free from their controlled position behind his back to begin a series of violent, heated gesticulations. "Ha! If there is anyone here who is the most _not_ confused, it is Zim! You are the one that is confused, Dib. It just needs to get through your _Brobdingnagian_ head first." The hands flailed faster. "Everything about you is not right! Posture, demeanor—everything that had once encompassed the Dib's...what's the word..._personality _are gone! Yes, that's it! The human personality. A _cesspool_ of subjective variables unable to be accurately mapped for analysis and interpretation. Shoulders are straight, hands no longer concealed within pockets of clothing, facial muscles relaxed. Analysis: insufficient data!" Zim scoffed with a flick of his hand. "Fanciful poetic observations. Irkens deal in _constants_, not change! Your constant has been and always will be that of The Enemy! The fact that you have aged a few earth years should be of no interest, especially to—"

"Did you just say 'Irkens'?"

Zim froze in mid-rant which left him in a rather comical pose involving one foot in the air and both arms spread at his sides. His eyes widened, full and interested; his antennae pitched forward on his head.

"Aren't they over near Syria?"

"NO!" Black claws _slashed_ and _jabbed_ through the air at an increasing pace. "Irk is not a _country _you stupid pig-beast! It is a _planet!_ Irk is a planet!" His right hand stretched dramatically into the distance. "One located far beyond the reaches of this puny galaxy with more _power _in its mere name than this ball of _mud _has on its entire—"

A sudden chorus of laughter cut him off. The Irken growled through his teeth and clenched his fists, his shoulders hunching in barely-contained rage. Dib, however, was too busy chuckling at him to notice.

"A planet?" he laughed. "As in, _another _planet, other than this one? So wait, wait...you're saying...you're an alien?"

The Irken's fists tightened with an audible _creak._ Dib's smile faded.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Without pupils Zim's eyes were soulless, like those of a shark's, but somehow Dib found he was still able to read subtle expressions in them...almost as if he knew what to look for. They focused on him with a distinctive expectancy, doing everything short of audibly goading him to continue with the chain of thought. He suddenly realized that he was being appraised, and that this was some sort of test.

His brows furrowed, hardening his face into an insulted scowl. The echo of his laughter faded from the room like a lost memory. "There's no such thing as aliens."

Zim's eyes darkened. Anger replaced eagerness. "Very well then, Dib. Embrace it for all I care. We'll do this the hard way."

For the first time, Zim advanced to close the large gap he had previously been so careful to keep between Dib and himself. On instinct Dib began to shift backwards, shamefully cognizant of the overwhelming urge to run that suddenly seized his every nerve. There was something familiar in the way Zim stalked forward, of the _purpose _reflecting in his odd inhuman eyes. A monster was stirring before him that Dib was sure he _felt_ but couldn't _see._ It wasn't right. None of this made any sense.

Zim seemed to be able to read his mind, or perhaps the expression in his eyes. The Irken's antennae flattened aggressively against his head as his fingers curled into claws at his sides. "What's the matter, _Dibstink_" he growled. "Wary of me? Perhaps you find me _unsettling_ in some way your puny brainmeats cannot reason? Or perhaps you thought you'd won. I told you this war wasn't over. You do not engage the Irken Elite without paying the consequences."

Dib drew to a halt. "Dibstink?" he repeated. Realization suddenly lit up in his eyes. "Wait a minute...! Now I remember! I _knew _you looked familiar! You broke into my dorm room a few weeks ago!"

--------------------

Dib was sound asleep when he was awakened by a rude slap to the face. He gasped and snapped to awareness, struggling valiantly to assemble his consciousness into some semblance of order, but his shock was quickly replaced with anger when he made out the fuzzy image of a dark shadow at his bedside. It looked to be rather pleased with itself as it stood before him, hand still raised from the strike.

"What's the matter with you!" he hissed venomously in the darkness.

"Oh Dib" it tsked, "I've caught you off guard this time."

"Ha ha. Not funny." Groaning, he pulled the covers over his head to end the conversation. In instant reply the sheets were ripped clean off him with a violent tug, sending Dib shooting upright in bed to glare at his assailant.

"You DARE ignore me!" the figure shrieked.

"I'm _trying_! Now knock it off!"

The shadow's head tilted in sudden confusion, searching his face for...what? "Do you _know_ who I am?" it demanded incredulously.

Dib leered forward. "Yeah! You're my jerk of a roommate who I'm going to _kill _tomorrow! I have a physics exam in the morning, Keef! Seriously, I put up with your practical jokes most of the time, but this is too much!"

The shadow's eyes narrowed shrewdly. Without warning it suddenly snatched a hand up and seized Dib by his lower jaw. "Hey! What are you—ow!" Strong nails dug deep into his skin as a rough jerk forced him into silence. Their faces mere inches apart, Dib now saw Keef was wearing some strange disguise, probably something he had purchased last Halloween. He shuddered as two ruby-colored orbs flicked subtly back and forth, stripping him down to the bone with only their stare. There was a _hate_ in their depths that he'd have never thought was possible to capture in a mask. He made a mental note to ask Keef in the morning what those things were made out of...after he got done killing him.

Dib's gaze drifted briefly towards the left to try and get a look at what time it was. A rough shake brought his eyes snapping back to his aggressor.

"Whatever this deception, Dib-_stink_" the shadow hissed low and dangerous in its throat, "it will not work."

Dib squirmed, the spell on him broken by the insult. "Hey! _I _took a shower, which is more than I can say for you! You smell like dirt and motor oil!" He quickly pulled his head up and free of Keef's embrace. An added shove in the chest made it clear he wasn't playing. "Leave me alone."

Though his instincts shrieked in a strange display of protest, Dib turned his back on his roommate and resettled beneath the covers, curling in on himself to try and get warm again.

"And lose the costume" he mumbled as an afterthought. "If you're going to try and scare me at least put some effort into it."

--------------------

Zim scowled. "You'll be pleased to know I've worked on my effort."

"This isn't what I meant!" Dib insisted as he resumed his slow retreat. "Why are you following me?"

"You ruined my mission! You _did something_ to me! But make no mistake" Zim hissed, almost to himself, "you _are _disposable. I don't _need _you. There is nothing you humans can create that I cannot destroy. I simply do not wish to waste any more time on this petty endeavor when an easier solution is more accessible. One way or another you _will _surrender what you did. I will make you surrender it. And then you'll pay."

"Pay for wh—"

"Enough! This is like talking to an inanimate smeet! Besides, none of these questions matter. There is no way off of this vessel, human. You are standing in the bay of a military-issue Shuvver that has _ingeniously_ been prepared for your every conceivable move, so you may abandon any hopes you were harboring of escape. I have had a long time to plan this. In the name of Invader Zim you are now a prisoner of the Irken Empire. Resistance is futile, defeat is inevitable, blah blah." His left wrist flicked discreetly at his side, sending a small object settling deep into the folds of his palm where Dib couldn't see. "Now stand still."

Panic clutched at Dib. He refused to acknowledge that some third-grader could set his nerves on edge, but his instincts seemed to care little for his pride. He was scared. For the first time, that horrible, cruel laugh from the hallway truly seemed to match the creature stalking towards him with hate in its step. Dib's senses kicked into overdrive as he slowly let go of enough logic to realize Zim was going to attack him. Thousands of scenarios began to run instantly through his mind, each one trying desperately to calculate every way his opponent could move and plan a counterattack for it. A removed portion of Dib's brain found it curious how he no longer objected to having the knife in his back pocket. In fact, it was all he could think about. Zim was short, but Dib knew if he pulled the weapon out low and fast enough he could do significant damage. Even if his aim was horrible the Irken was so frail a single slash at the stomach or the face would probably kill it. There would be blood and screams. He wondered what it would sound like. Strapped to a table with those delicate folds of lime-green skin held back by pins at the edges, exposing the organs beneath to—

His left heel suddenly struck something soft on the floor behind him. With a gasp he finally remembered—

_Keef!_

A sickening rush of guilt and shame overtook him, violently throwing Dib's mind out of the battle-centered haze that had seized it. How long had Keef been lying behind him on the floor, fading inch by inch? Dib couldn't remember. Once Zim had stepped into the room everything else just seemed to melt away.

His concentration began to slip rapidly from his control in wake of the distraction. While his eyes remained on Zim as the Irken stalked ever closer, he found he was no longer able to think clearly.

He had something that belonged to this thing, apparently something he'd had for a while...but what? What on Earth...or, not...could it _possibly _think he was hiding? He didn't know even know where he _was! _"You've made some kind of mistake!" he shouted in desperation. "I don't have what you want!"

Zim sneered. "Stupid human" he cooed. Dib watched in horrified fascination as four long metal rods with pointed tips slowly grew from the creature's back. Mouth agape, his eyes traveled upward to follow the extending motion of the legs which brought Zim to rest at a height only slightly higher than his own. The appendages bent in slow motion, graceful and deadly, lowering the Irken between them like a spider crouching for a kill. And then, only moments later, Zim was lunging for his throat.

"You are what I want."

* * *

I'll save you the trouble, because I didn't know what it meant either:

_Brobdingnagian_ (brohb-ding-nah-gee-en) – Of or relating to a gigantic person or thing

Yes, it's ugly. Yes, I used it on purpose. The Extras explain why.


	4. So Cold

Here we are, Chapter 4—past the boring, crusty outer shell and at the verge of the juicy center. --shakes head-- You're knee-deep in it now, my unfortunate reader; possibly even more so than poor Dib himself. There's no going back. From here on out it's all downhill at ninety miles an hour...and you don't have any brakes. I'd hang on if I were you.

As always, a wonderful, marvelous thanks goes out to my two beta-readers: **thejennamonster **and **DelphinBella.** Though I'm proud to say they didn't have to take as many bullets with my writing this time around, I am no less grateful for their help. And you shouldn't be either. Now…PRAISE THEM! Or, you know, go read their stuff. I'm sure they'd appreciate that just as much.

And now the time comes when I try to come up with some clever, ingenious way to say that, while I love Invader Zim to pieces, I don't own it. Nor do I own any of these characters that I'm working with. You have no idea how hard it is to keep trying to think of new ways to—Aw, dammit! I said it already!

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Chapter 4

Stars exploded before his vision. At first Dib thought, _I'm dead._ It wasn't until his head connected hard against metal with a bone-jarring _BANG _that he began to think maybe he wasn't...He had just been punched really, really hard.

His eyes flew open as he shot a hand out to brace himself on the side of the Saturn. He was sprawled awkwardly against the rear door, half-standing, half-crouched, eyes angled down at the back right tire. The side of his face where he had been struck was numb in comparison to the cold, edged pain from the one that had been introduced so roughly to his vehicle. He was quickly pulled from his shock, however, as a brief movement flashed urgently in his mind. With a sharp cry he threw both hands up to protect his face and yanked his torso backwards just as another perfectly-aimed blow by one of Zim's powerful metal legs demolished his fuel tank door. Small prickles ignited on his skin as chips of silver paint and damaged metal went flying in several directions.

A half-second later and those would have been pieces of his skull.

He backpedaled furiously, breath coming heavy and quick in his throat. The world spiraled out of control as he scurried madly to get away from that _thing._ He had no direction, no plan. He was simply moving...at least until the rubber on the soles of his boots became tangled in something on the floor. The sensation registered as a frustrating annoyance in Dib's mind before he fell hard to the ground on his tailbone.

He had tripped over Keef. During the course of the scuffle the college student had slid downward from where he'd been propped against the car's tires and was now lying on his back, his legs stretched beneath Dib's own. He was still unconscious, but now he was moving—more specifically, he was going into convulsions.

A fine line of drool mixed with a milky green liquid was dribbling from the corner of Keef's mouth. In the blink of an eye Dib processed the slimy trail it made down the side of his face to join with a large shimmering puddle on the floor. It was an odd detail to notice, especially since in that same brief second Keef's arms and shoulders gave a violent twitch, bringing his head up and down with a lifeless _thunk._ Then Zim was upon them.

Dib jumped with a start as a spider leg stepped directly in his line of sight, missing Keef's body by mere inches. With a choked cry he twisted to throw his back hard into the car for protection then glanced upwards in horror as he saw Zim raise a front right leg in preparation to stab.

"No! Wait!"

Desperation seized him. Without thinking Dib gritted his teeth and used the car as a brace to give Keef a sudden, hard kick in the side. The force of the push sent his roommate skidding across the polished floor out of immediate harm's way. Dib was left with barely enough time to part his long legs before a jarring shock wave rippled through the floor. His heart skipped several beats as he realized _that_ time, the spider leg had landed down point-first. Zim had been aiming to pin his shin to the ground...literally.

Another blur of silver was all Dib could catch as the metal leg shot forward with surprising speed and bent inwards to land a flat, but stabbing blow into his chest. The back of his head slammed hard into the Saturn's rear passenger door handle. Dib heard every molecule of air in his body expel through his mouth in one thundering breath; then he was looking at the ceiling. In the same motion the leg had traveled upwards and connected with his chin, forcing his eyes, head, and anything else located from the neck up shooting towards the sky. The warm, coppery taste of blood blossomed slowly across his mouth. Though fortunate he had not managed to sever his tongue, Dib had clipped a good portion of his inner cheek with his teeth.

_Get back on your feet!_

His eyes returned downwards, spine contorting to try and get him standing with one thrust of muscle. Zim was already moving in but for the first time the Irken was too slow. Dib shot to his feet, towering for a moment over the stooped Irken, then twisted and vaulted his body onto the roof of his car.

He scrambled ungracefully on his stomach for what seemed an eternity as trembling hands fought to get a grip so he could pull himself to the other side. At the same time a tight, almost painful grip wrapped around his right ankle, pulling at his jeans. Dib kicked without thinking and felt the sturdy heel of his boot connect with something. Then his fingers finally found a niche and with one tremendous effort he pulled himself diagonally across the Saturn's roof.

He landed facing up on the floor on the opposite side of the car near the hood, a dribble of blood hanging from the corner of his mouth. He spit and grunted, pushing himself up, and then thought to glance backwards along the car.

A pair of gleaming ruby eyes was already staring down at him.

Dib screamed but had enough sense this time to scramble to his feet, though it put him facing the wrong way. He felt the floor ripple with a frightening vibration as Zim leapt nimbly from his perch and landed with a heavy _thunk _behind him. Instinctively his right arm lashed back in a wide, flimsy arc. It connected only with air, but it gave him the precious few seconds he needed to get his eyes and body facing the right direction again...and not a moment too soon.

He turned to find that Zim had used the opportunity to move in close—so close that Dib could _smell_ the oils coming off of his body, could _see _the tiny pores covering the skin on his face. A black-gloved hand was stretching down towards his head, fingers spread—eager claws blocking out the light from above. With a startled yelp he leapt backward to escape; a horizontal swipe from one of Zim's legs whistled past his chest in deft pursuit. Panicked, Dib thrust his arms forward in a vain attempt to protect himself. The cold sting of metal erupted on one of his palms as he accidentally pushed the attacking spider leg further into its completing swing. The unexpected force sent Zim teetering slightly on his remaining three legs; then a smile burst forth on his face as he seemed to find an ideal point of balance. Two gleaming metal skewers recoiled up into the air, towering frightfully over the human standing trapped in their shadow. A moment later had them stabbing downward with hateful force. Dib threw his hands up and braced for death.

A burning pain rocketed down his arms.

"What!" Zim breathed. Dib's vision refocused.

The legs had been halted in mid-strike. They hovered frozen in time in the folds of Dib's palms, quivering slightly from where sheer desperation had allowed him to halt their forward charge. With a determined growl Zim twisted his face into a gruesome snarl and began to push down on the limbs. His eyes narrowed in concentration at the mental energy needed to make the legs obey him. Black-clad fists clenched as skinny arms began to tremble. Antennae twitched and facial muscles mutated into an expression of both shock and determination.

On the losing end, Dib's biceps quivered beneath the long sleeves of his black leather trench coat. He could feel the opposing mechanical force snaking through his tendons like a wire pulled taught, ready to snap. He groaned and twisted his shoulders, struggling bravely against the immense power working against him, but already he could feel himself sinking slowly, steadily, backwards across the hood of his car.

It was only by accident that he was given the means to end the stalemate. In the course of channeling every shred of strength he had into his arms, Dib's right hand slipped a little, causing the tip of the metal leg to bend at a fuchsia ball-joint located just a foot from its end. Seizing on the movement he surrendered a few inches and began to push inwards, moving with Zim instead of against him. The tip folded in on itself easily. With the point safely turned away from him, Dib then clamped his hand down hard to trap the two segments against one another and began to slowly force the other point back away from his face.

Comprehension lit up in Zim's magenta eyes the moment the standoff shifted. Hissing in rage, the Irken quickly recoiled, forcefully jerking both legs out of Dib's grip. For the first time Dib was on the offensive and the sudden opportunity forced a primal, unforgiving will to the forefront of his character. Without compunction he lunged forward, pursuing Zim, and reached for the knife tucked in his back pocket.

The leather case caught on the inside hem of his jeans which released the blade naked into open air. The deadly edge screamed for pain and blood, for any part of Zim that could be reached, but unfortunately the Irken's reflexes were quick to deny it. In one fluid motion Zim withdrew _just enough _to miss the blade by an exact three inches and knocked the knife out of Dib's hand with a contemptuous, backhanded slap. The weapon hit the metal floor with a light _click_ before skidding across the room and out of sight.

The action brought a small lull to the battle. Though Zim had managed to disarm his opponent with pitiful ease he seemed shocked at the move. He pulled away with an odd tilt to his head, studying Dib's face; then something snapped into place. "HA!" the Irken shrieked, pointing a clawed finger as his eyes bulged in their sockets. "Pathetic sapienoid! Your primitive weapons are _nothing _compared to the might of—!"

But his dramatic boast was clipped rudely in the bud by a poorly aimed, yet still effective fist contacting with his lower jaw. He staggered backwards with an angry cry, both hands raising to cover his face. "Hey! You didn't let me finish!"

Dib grunted as he advanced and swung again. Miss. "Why would I? What do you think this is, a game?"

The metal legs _clicked _against the floor as they continued to retreat away from Dib's strikes, following a path around the front of the car.

Swing.

_Click._

Swing.

_Click click._

"You're not very good at this, you know" Zim said with a scowl. "You hit better as a wormbaby."

"Shut up! I wouldn't _be _hitting you if you hadn't hit me first! And what the _hell _is a wormbaby? That sounds like some crazy thing Keef would say whenever he sees a squirr—"

Once again, a chilling guilt seized Dib's heart as he realized his roommate had managed to slip completely from his mind. Frantically, he tried to remember where Keef was. They'd been near the car...then he'd kicked him to the middle of the floor. They went over the roof, Zim had retreated, turned, moved around the front of the car, and now they were heading...

Keef materialized into view, lying motionless in a fresh puddle of vomit only a few feet away from Zim's retreating back legs. Just a couple more steps and he'd be skewered by accident!

Quickly, Dib aimed an open-handed swipe low at Zim's torso. The move was a blatant change of pattern and, surprisingly, almost managed to catch his opponent off guard. As Zim sucked in his breath and arched his stomach out of the way, Dib spun off to the side to try and change the direction of the fight. Unfortunately, it took Zim no time to pull back his own hand and swipe in return with a set of sharp, stubby claws.

Dib saw it coming and corrected without thinking, tilting awkwardly out of the path of the strike. Though he got his body and face out of range he saw Zim was skittering sideways to try and catch him off guard. The pointed metal tips grew closer and closer to Keef on the ground. Eyes wide, Dib lunged towards the opposite side, purposefully leaving his left shoulder open and unprotected. The hit was just too easy to pass up, and Zim quickly followed to take the bait

The Irken didn't break skin, though Dib cried out and recoiled anyway as three nails raked viciously across his arm. Though gloved the claws still tore through his leather trench coat and even dipped far enough to shred the red cotton T-shirt he was wearing underneath. Three dull lines of fire were left where they brushed indirectly across flesh.

_No! Don't stop! Don't look down!_

Dib couldn't help it. The civilized reaction was to gawk at the injury, to survey the damage, and it had a firm hold on him despite this surreal world he'd been thrown into. But even as his eyes slid downwards, his instincts knew Zim would take advantage of the opening; they knew a hit was coming. Every muscle in his body coiled tight to absorb the shock wherever it hit...

Except nothing happened.

Slowly, stupidly, Dib's eyes came up from his shoulder. Zim was standing only a short distance away, his small body hovering between the support of those wicked legs. A slight frown hovered on his lips. Piercing eyes were grim...and angry.

"You stepped into that" he accused in a flat tone.

"No!" Dib rushed to answer. "I swear I didn't! You're so fast!"

Large eyes narrowed into slits. "...You're toying with me..."

"_Toying _with you? I can barely keep up with you!"

"**LIAR!** I _remember!_ It hasn't been that long since I fought you last! I _knew _the Dib was much better! You are MOCKING me! You think Zim is no longer _worth it!_"

A leg shot out of nowhere to backhand Dib across the face. He staggered rearward a step but moved forward again to maintain his ground. He wanted desperately to put as much distance between Zim and himself as possible, but this time fear didn't get the better of him. He wasn't going to abandon Keef again.

A second blow rained down on him from the other side, clipping a good part of his neck and his ear this time. "I should have seen it!" Zim continued to rage, now in a world of his own. "I should have _known _there was something amiss with you! There should have been a trap waiting for me! A plan! An army the size of a large human _country _to combat the fearsome might of _Zim_! But here I return to finish what _you _started and look what I find!"

A hand shot forward to grab Dib's clothes—a _real _hand. Zim's tiny, gloved fist twisted with a monstrous strength, forcefully wrenching the fabric into a tight knot that pinched Dib's skin underneath. The Irken's hot breath poured over his face as he leaned in close. "I find _this._"

Rage boiled up in Dib—at being hurt, at being caught, at still being completely clueless as to what was going on. "You're insane" he hissed back.

Zim snarled and raised his left fist—the one still hiding some unknown device in its depths. It only then occurred to Dib just how much the battle so far had taken out of his opponent. Zim had done it all with only one hand; the other had been holding that thing the whole time.

For the first time, the Irken's tiny fingers opened, revealing what looked to be a little silver disc in his palm. It was shaped like a smooth, flat skipping stone that was slightly thicker in the middle than it was on the ends. Within seconds of being exposed to open air, a group of four snakelike tentacles emerged from the edges of the device and traveled down the length of Zim's thick fingers. Smaller, thinner tentacles then spread out in a branch-like formation to cover the entire surface of the palm, digits and all, in a complicated web of fine silver threads. Dib couldn't see what was holding the strands to Zim's hand. He also couldn't see what was holding the strands to each other. They just seemed to melt together, as if imbued with a common, conscious mind. Then he heard the beginning of what sounded like a hundred tiny guns cocking in the silence.

His eyes widened in horror as dozens of small, barely-visible silver needles stood up straight along the winding path of the threads. At the tips of Zim's fingers four large barb-like skewers flared out with a spring-loaded _snap._

Time stopped. Zim's mouth twisted into a sadistic grin. Dib's pupils contracted in fear. Then, a tiny voice floated up from the floor:

"Whatcha doin', Master?"

The robot! Seized with sudden inspiration, Dib buckled his knees, causing Zim to stoop forward with the violent increase in weight. The next second had him reaching for the droid just as Zim was figuring out he'd lost control of the situation. The machine gave an insane giggle accompanied with an emphatic "Weeee!" as it was lifted from the floor and yanked sideways into the air. Then its tiny voice twisted into shrill scream as Zim's hand descended upon its chest with damning force.

"GIR!" the Invader barked, still holding his palm down as the robot shrieked, presumably in pain. "What are you doing down here? Get away from the Dib immediately!"

Dib's hands tingled from trying to hold onto his makeshift shield. After only a few seconds he was forced to let go.

The torture stopped. GIR landed on his feet on the ground, though he was smoking and a little wobbly. With a dazed groan he gave his master the best salute he could manage and began to hobble away.

"Oh, you'll pay for that."

Dib's eyes had been on the robot. Too late, he realized he should have been watching Zim. An effortless yank sent him careening across the room with the force of three grown men. He staggered awkwardly, flailing his arms to regain his balance. The metal floor contacted hard with his knees as he failed, but this time the pain didn't register. An animal had taken over, wrenching Dib's body quickly so he was facing his enemy as soon as possible, even if it was on his knees. His teeth grit in determination as he raised an arm off the floor, ready to rush forward, but his body instantly jerked to a stop, halting his momentum before it could start.

Zim had been walking towards him. Startled by the change in behavior, the Irken froze. His eyes hovered on Dib's with a questioning intensity. Then slowly...slowly, his gaze fell downward.

A cruel, comprehending grin spread across the Invader's features that sent a knife through Dib's heart. Lying directly beneath Zim on the floor, supine and helpless in a forest of deadly metal legs, was Keef's unconscious form.

"_That's _what you were doing" Zim hissed with a glare at his opponent.

"Leave him alone."

The Irken's head cocked to the side with terrifying slowness. "You dare command me?"

Dib's brows furrowed. "Please" he said, even-toned. "I'll stay. I'll do whatever you want. He just needs help. Let me take him to a hospital."

Zim snorted, his antennae flicking forwards and then back again. "Pathetic. In presence you may be a grown human male, but in everything else you are still a smeet..._beneath _a smeet." The Irken's condemning gaze turned down upon the creature writhing in a puddle of its own vomit at his feet. "And yet this is still worth something to you, isn't it Dib? This...weak _thing. _This...this...CULMINATION of everything worthless on this wretched planet! Even as you are, when you look at ZIM as if his greatness does not exist, _this _is still _worth _something to you!"

"He's my friend."

Zim's eyes drew up, narrowing slowly as he leaned forward, reading Dib intently through the eyes. "No" he concluded, straightening. "This is merely a lingering distraction. One, it seems, I am going to have to take the liberty of removing for you." Smiling, his eyes turned downward for the last time. "You needn't concern your attention with _this_, Dib. In the end...it is of no consequence."

"No, Zim! DON'T!"

Without an ounce of mercy, the alien lifted one deadly, delicate metal leg and drove it straight through Keef's chest. The protective bones caging the delicate organs underneath gave way with a sickening _crack _that emanated throughout the unforgiving metal room. Keef's eyes flared open for a brief moment as he gasped, liquid gargling in his throat, then he convulsed one last time and lay still. Zim recoiled in disgust as a small spray of blood erupted upwards from the body before dying down to pool lifelessly on the floor. The air became instantly saturated with the salty, metallic stench of blood.

Dib lunged with the taste lingering thick on his tongue. "You _monster!_ I'll KILL you!"

Zim sprang backwards from the body with excitement in his step, his eyes large and illuminated. "_There's_ Dib!" he sang in sudden triumph. "Took you long enough!"

The world moved in slow motion, and it was torture. Even as he lunged Dib could already see he'd made a terrible mistake; yet while he could watch, he could do nothing to fix it.

By the time he got close Zim was beyond ready for him. Keeping one metal leg planted solidly on the floor, the Invader swung his body around it like a hinge, pulling himself just enough out of the way as Dib shot past him. Once even with his opponent's side he quickly snapped back with all his might to tackle him to the ground.

Dib landed hard on his hands and knees with a small weight pressing doggedly into his back. A long spider leg snaked beneath his stomach and tightened against him, holding Zim firmly in place. A second leg moved to position itself firmly on the back of his head towards the top of his skull. Before he could move to throw Zim off his head was forced down and he felt a brief prick at the base of his neck. Then he went numb.

A frantic gasp surged into his lungs, not from pain, but from the cold fear the sudden paralysis sent through his system. An overwhelming instinct of sheer vulnerability consumed his thoughts, spiraling him headlong into the dangerous clutches of hysteria. He heard sounds behind him passing in and out of consciousness—voices mumbling, mechanics humming, scrapes and clicks of some alien _thing _that was _touching_ his skin. But he didn't move. He couldn't.

Time crashed to a stop.

A Pandora's Box opened onto Dib's mind, sending a thousand neural impulses surging through him in a single, massive wave—smells, sounds, sights, tastes; emotions and feelings; visions and voices speaking to him on a level that he couldn't even begin to understand. At first he thought he was dreaming, but he quickly came to realize that what he was seeing were memories. His memories...foreign and strange...yet undeniably his. They had a feel to them, a miasma of 'Dib' that he took to as if curling into his own bed, bathing in the unconscious smells of himself. Like a movie playing before his eyes, Dib was transported to a world of his youth he didn't even know had existed...straight to the very day when it all changed.

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--dodges rocks at ending it there-- Sorry! I know! You'll thank me later.

While you're waiting for Chapter 5, however, there are other things for you to do. For one, you could head on over to my livejournal and enjoy the **Extra Features **for this chapter. They should be up a day or two after this goes online. You could also submit me a **review **telling me what you thought because hopefully by now I have made it very clear that I am a receptive, understanding author who loves to hear what people think: good _and_ bad. If you don't want to do either of those, you could…oh, I don't know…uh, whittle. Whittling is good.


	5. Frontier Psychiatrist

–taps microphone– Friends! Romans! _Stop _lending me your rocks! Chapter 5 is here! As a warning: this chapter is LONG, double the length of the others (which was the reason for the evil cutoff...sort of, mwa ha ha!) And, as always, I hope you devour it with much enthusiasm :)

**NOTE:** It may be a good idea to reread the last, say, paragraph or so of Chapter 4 to refresh where we left off. The betas think it'll help with the transition.

You may have noticed I've gone back and given all the chapters proper titles. There were reasons that I left them off but...I couldn't stand it any longer. They _deserve _to be up there. Especially for this chapter. It's just too, too perfect.

As always, a big thanks goes out to my beta-readers: **DelphinBella **and **thejennamonster.** Fear their incredible guinea-pig powers. Seriously...fear them.

These characters aren't mine,  
So lawyers: Don't assume!  
And just enjoy this fanfic...of doom!

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Chapter 5

"Investigation log: six seven oh dash forty-two…hundred…" amber eyes darted about for inspiration, "…uh, ten! Have been surveying Zim's _obviously alien _house now for almost seven hours straight. And I kind of have to go to the bathroom…bad." Dib shook his head, black scythe snapping back and forth in the air. "But the Savior of Earth remains focused! Unmoving! Determined to continue his mission of goodness and finally bring peace to the world he knows so—"

"Hey yew!" a voice with a thick southern drawl hollered from across the street. "Ya want sum more lemonayde!"

Dib scowled and turned off his digital voice recorder with an annoyed _snap. _Poking his head in aggravation over the leafy arms of an ample evergreen shrub, he shouted back to a frumpy, slack-jawed woman with a bulging growth deformity on her forehead. "For the thirty-eighth time: No _thank you_ Ms…whoever you are!"

He squatted back down in the dirt, hunkering over his recorder once more as he dropped his voice to hiss into the microphone. "Note to self: Never eat, drink, or otherwise consume any more foodstuffs from Zim's creepy neighbors." He stuck his tongue out and made a low gurgling noise. "I think I found a rat tail in my ice cube!"

A brief movement across the street suddenly caught his eye, causing him to snatch his binoculars excitedly from around his neck and press them against his glasses. Through the highly-buffered lenses of his POUP (Polar Optical UFO Pinpointer) binoculars, Dib spotted a single dried leaf traveling slowly across Zim's front lawn from where it had landed on the edge of the property. A light fall breeze propelled it between the bases of few dozen grotesque lawn ornaments scattered about the yard. Dib grimaced in particular at the skewered plastic blowfish that all looked as if they were on the verge of either emptying their stomachs, or emptying their bowels, whichever came first. He'd tried to tell Zim on one occasion that Tetraodons were not customarily used as decorating objects. The Invader had responded by placing three more on either side of his house, parallel to the ground, and running a string of brown, blinking Christmas lights through them which, as of now, were still lit...and it was September.

Dib straightened upright on his knees, eyes straining through the binoculars to try and catch a glimpse of anything suspicious. Nothing. Biting his lip in determination he lowered the lenses and scanned the house and the surrounding area unaided. All seemed quiet. The lime green paint was just as absurd, and no shadows stirred within the pale pink, violet-trimmed windows. Halfway down the block an old woman was dragging her dog along on a leash, one lame leg trailing behind her as she wrestled with the lethargic, half-dead animal. Across the street, the lemonade lady was trying to shove an ice cube up her nose. Still on edge, Dib settled reluctantly back into a low crouching position...and was thrown flat as something cold and wet struck him square in the face.

His vision refocused to the sound of grating, mocking laughter drifting from across the street. As he blinked through the wet smudges on his glasses and pulled himself upright, he growled at the dead fish lying calmly on his chest. He snatched the offending seafood up by the tail and shot to his feet, waving it threateningly at the miniature figure guffawing from a second-story window that had, only seconds ago, been empty.

"Real funny, _Zim!"_ he retorted as he wondered how the Irken had managed to throw a fish that far. "Unlimited technology and that's the best you can come up with!"

Zim, sans disguise, leaned forward on the windowsill to deliver a very focused, very intentional "Ha!"

Frustrated, Dib stormed a few steps out of the bush and flung the fish as hard as he could. It sailed for a grand total of three feet before landing in the street with a squishy _flop._ A second, more powerful bout of mocking laughter met his efforts which caused the dog and two humans across the street to cringe at what sounded remarkably similar to silverware being eviscerated in a garbage disposal. Dib had long ago gotten used to the noise, but Zim getting the better of him was inexcusable. Unable to stand the humiliation for long, he screamed a challenge to his hated enemy—something to the effect of, "That's it, Zim! This time you're dead!"—and broke into a run for the front door.

Zim gasped in a panic and shoved his head out the window just as Dib reached the yard. "Oh no you don't!" He gesticulated wildly to a handful of lawn gnomes below which turned blank, expressionless faces upward to listen to their master. "Stop him my gnomey minions!"

Dib lowered his head and pushed himself to reach the door before the guard gnomes could organize. Gliding smoothly across grass and cement alike, the gnomes positioned themselves in a hastily-constructed line a few feet before the front door. The rush to break through their defenses quickly became a twisted game of "red rover" as Dib barreled through a gap just as their little balled hands were reaching outwards to join together. He jabbed with his elbow and managed to catch one machine on the head, toppling it onto its side. Another dove forward and latched onto his ankle, causing him to stumble and eventually crash chest-first into Zim's front door. He worked the knob with clumsy fingers, viciously shaking his leg to try and disengage the tenacious machine. The door then swung open and he staggered inside, beating and kicking at his leg until the gnome tumbled off and he could slam the door in its face.

"Get out of my house this instant!"

Dirtied and scuffed, but wholly unabashed, Dib turned to find Zim already standing in the center of the small living room, a vicious claw pointed in his direction. The two boys began to circle one another, backs hunched and fingers curled, eyes glued to the enemy and nothing else.

"You can't throw fish at _me _and get away with it, Zim!" Dib declared. "A fish thrown at me is a fish thrown at TRUTH! And the only thing Truth stinks of is...well Truth. So you can see where that kind of wouldn't work."

Zim scoffed. "That's not the stink of _truth _you smell, pathetic human! That is the stink of victory! For Zim! Which is ME! And anyway there's a monkey standing behind you."

"What?"

Dib turned his head to glance backwards and let out a yelp as he was tackled from behind. Strong, inhuman claws latched onto the collar of his trench coat and began to forcibly push him towards the door. Dib slammed his heels into the carpet and struggled, trying to reach around to his neck, but Zim had an overwhelming advantage of position. Desperate, he raised a foot and rammed a heavy black boot, heel first, directly onto one of Zim's toes.

A deafening shriek pierced his right ear and then he was released with a forceful push. Dib staggered forward, a hand to his head, and spun quickly to dive back into the fray. He clashed with Zim in a frenzy of clawing arms and kicking feet as both boys tried to damage anything that wasn't their own. In light of all the chaos it was almost impossible to see where they were aiming, least of all anything happening in the rest of the room, but somehow Dib managed to catch sight of Zim's robot servant, also sans disguise, emerging from the kitchen. Upon seeing the boys locked in combat the machine immediately dropped a tray of pasty, half-digested saltine crackers and rushed forward into the room, mouth and eyes agape in unbridled wonder.

"Master! You'se wrasslin'! I WANNA PLAY!"

Dib had just enough time to gasp and point before the robot was diving forward with a battle cry of "PINEAPPLES!" It landed between the boys and immediately attempted to partake in the fun by grabbing an arm in one hand, an antenna in another, and spinning in place at stomach-lurching speeds. Dib pulled hopelessly at his trench coat, one hand clasped firmly over his mouth, while Zim screeched and flailed and shouted anything that came to mind.

"GIR stop! I'm gonna be sick! The pain, PAIN! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! GIR! **GIR! STOP!"**

"Oookiedoookie!"

And stop GIR did. Abruptly enough, in fact, that the leftover inertia sent Zim and Dib skyrocketing towards opposite ends of the room. Dib was fortunate enough to crash into a sofa which, despite catching him square in the spine, absorbed most of the shock. Zim, however, was not as lucky. He collided head-on with the wall beside the television.

It took several minutes of groaning and shifting for the boys to get back on the ground. With a series of cracks echoing throughout his skeleton, Dib unfolded from the sofa and dumped himself into a heap on the floor. He glanced up woozily as he watched Zim try to work out three prominent kinks in his antennae.

"Seriously Zim, haven't you fixed that thing yet?"

"Non...sense" the Invader slurred while his robot giggled madly in the background. "GIR is...the highest form of Irk known to...technology! There's nothing...wrong with him!"

"Yeah right" Dib mumbled. "Nothing except _everything._" He shifted to push himself to his feet, but just as his hands fell on his knees, he froze.

Zim sensed the change in behavior instantly. Despite the large crease still stuck in his left antenna, he stopped moving his fingers and focused his attention on the enemy. What was that _look _in that filthy human's eye...?

A devilish grin split Dib's face in two. "Hey wow!" he shouted with a theatric leap into the air.

Startled by the cry, GIR jolted itself from its looping giggling program and glanced curiously to the human. "What?"

"It's Zim! He's got candy in his pocket!"

Blanching, the Invader scrambled clumsily to his feet. "No!" he insisted. "I have none of your evil paw-kets—GIR don't!"

But the robot had already lunged forward and latched itself, with great enthusiasm, onto its master's head. Activating its extendable arms, it reached downward and began to mercilessly poke and prod as it searched for the treats. Zim screamed, to little effect.

"No" Dib said, directing the robot over the noise, "not there. A little to the left."

"Here?" GIR jabbed. "Here?"

"No, no. A little...up just a bit."

"GIR GET OFF ME! **OW! **NO PINCHING!"

"Here? Here? Here? Here? Here?"

"No, yeah, no...ther—no—yeah there! Right there!"

"Candiiiiiiieeeee!"

Tiny clawed hands plunged deep into Zim's gut, and the Invader took to running in tight circles in a panic. In the midst of all the thrashing and hollering and chaos his shin accidentally collided with the leg of a short brown table sitting between the television and the kitchen doorway. He shrieked and threw back his neck in pain which sent GIR crashing to the ground, a stretchy green eyelid clutched firmly in its metal fingers. A secret panel then opened in the floor directly beneath the two and, amidst more screams and a disappointed "Hey...there's no candy in here..." they disappeared from sight.

--------------------

Dib congratulated himself as he strode leisurely through the kitchen, heading towards the back wall. He didn't exactly have the entire system of pipes and elevators resting beneath Zim's house committed to memory, but he did know that the tube Zim had fallen down led away from the main laboratories, and that he'd never been able to use the toilet entrance before.

He was _dying _to see where it led him!

Whistling a small tune to himself he stepped forward to examine the porcelain gateway. To Zim's credit it _did _look remarkably accurate—barring the fact that it was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, of course. But Dib knew the stained white bowl was actually a clever front to disguise a circular elevator platform resting inside. As he crawled into the toilet he thought, not for the first time, at how lucky the Earth was that _he _had chosen to take on Zim. A full-grown adult never would have been able to fit into here.

As his weight triggered the elevator and he began to descend within a narrow, opaque tube, it only then occurred to Dib that Zim's computer—the artificial intelligence imbued within the circuitry of the alien house itself—was not bothering to stop him, nor had it assisted with the scuffle in the living room. He found it odd that Zim had not called on the omnipresent system to help, especially since that was usually the only way the inept Invader was ever able to defend his base. The computer couldn't have been broken—the lawn gnomes were working fine—but Dib was accustomed to a little more resistance.

He shrugged. He hadn't planned on breaking into the lab today. Maybe it was some kind of weird alien holiday...or something.

He chuckled to himself. Technology Labor Day.

He reached the end of the vertical tube within a few minutes and descended into the center of an expansive rectangular room. Though he had seen Zim's facilities on numerous occasions, Dib couldn't keep his jaw from dropping at the sheer enormity of the stadium-like chamber. It was, by far, the largest segment of the underground base that he'd ever laid eyes upon, and a giddy excitement bubbled up within him at seeing it for the first time.

"This is _amazing!_"

The words escaped on their own as he feasted his eyes on a seemingly limitless supply of alien technology strewn _everywhere._ From what he could tell the room below had very little order. Large, dark metal blocks covered in lights, wires, and tubes lay strewn at random intervals on the floor and apparently acted as some form of universal mainframe or power source for Zim's mechanical equipment. There were very few things that _weren't _connected to the network. Off hand Dib was able to spot a few disassembled experimentation tanks, part of an Irken space ship, three very large energy cannons, the obligatory slew of computer monitors and consoles...and one coffee machine.

Cutting around the room at odd angles, squeezed in wherever they could find space, were several long tables used as counters for working. Above the tables, hanging from the walls like the twisted inventory of an otherworldly dentist, were scores of alien work tools. Some Dib could vaguely recognize simply by their appearance, such as a screwdriver-like instrument and a crackling soldering iron. Others may as well have been drinking straws for as far as he could tell.

The elevator platform came to a gentle rest on the floor and, automatically, Dib stepped forward...but he was hardly paying attention to where he was walking. He wandered aimlessly within the room for what seemed an eternity, ogling the things he'd never had the leisure to ogle before, and making sure to touch _everything._ Given the sheer size of the chamber he was invariably bound to miss things, which might have explained why he took no notice of the enormous video screen tucked in the center of the northern wall.

...At least until it spoke to him.

"HEY!"

The loud, sharp bark caught Dib completely by surprise. He spun on his feet, fearing that Zim had managed to catch up to him, and fell backwards into a sitting position as he was brought face-to-face with an enormous pair of wet purple eyes. The figure pulled away from Zim's computer monitor to reveal the perplexed expression of one of the Irken Empire's two leaders.

Dib had only encountered them briefly before, and had never been able to pump enough information out of Zim to learn much about them. They were tall, that much he knew, and because of it they ruled planet Irk. But as far as their names or history or even what they looked like from the waist-down...he had no idea. For simplicity, he had taken to referring to them in his mind by the color of their eyes—a feature which, thankfully, the two nearly-identical aliens did not share. It was the only way he could think to identify them.

The one on the screen, Purple, stood studying him with a slight tilt to its head, one antenna cocked higher than the other. A brief glance to a miniscule computer screen to the right showed Dib that the communication signal was transmitting from...somewhere very far away. He was still too shaky at reading Irken to flawlessly decipher the hundreds of status symbols flickering on the screen, but it seemed it was taking a good portion of the computer's resources to maintain the connection. That may have explained why it was so quiet.

"Where's Zim?" Purple asked.

Recovering from the scare, Dib pulled himself to his feet and tried to look defiant. It was a little hard when he had to lean backwards to see the top of the alien's head on the screen. A few steps rearward brought the picture into better perspective.

"I, uh, don't know."

Purple threw up his hands. "Great." His head turned to the side. "He's not there!" he shouted to someone off camera. There was a beat of silence. "I don't know! I got the kid, the big-headed one!"

Dib heard a muffled voice squeal "Lemme see!" in the background.

Purple shifted to the side to allow more room in the picture as an identical creature with cherry red eyes came into view. "All right, fine…but I get extra time for this!"

Red, the second of the Irken leaders, looked through the screen and gave a laugh. "You're in an Irken's base and you don't know where the Irken is?"

"Well..." Dib started, "I mean, I have a rough _idea _of wh—"

"At least Zim got the stupid part right…."

Purple suddenly turned to Red. "Hey, can I tell him?" he asked eagerly, antennae standing upright on his skull. "Does he count?"

Red raised a spindly green finger to his lower jaw. "I don't know…."

"You said to say it. You didn't say Zim had to be there."

"No, the deal was you had to _listen _to Zim afterward until he cut the communication...however long that took. It doesn't work if he's not there. There's no challenge."

Purple crossed his arms across his chest and turned away, eyes closed. "You should have thought of that beforehand."

"What! Hold on a min—"

"Nuh uh! If you didn't say it that's your fault, not mine! It counts!"

"It does not! It's a foul! I get to pick another one!"

"Does too! That was your turn and it counts! It counts it counts it counts it counts it counts it counts it—"

"FINE! Fine! It counts."

Red stalked off camera, grumbling. Purple smiled, pleased with the victory, and turned his attention back to Dib. "Okay, pale flesh-thing. I'm going to give you a message that you _will_ relay to Zim once you see him, understand? If you don't my _mighty _Irken powers that I'm not making up will dissolve your eyeballs into…uh…little puddles of...eyeball goo! Are you evolved enough to remember this or do you need time to get a writing instrument?"

Dib crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

"...You know I had a really good speech prepared for all of this. Too bad it'll be lost on you...Anyway, tell Zim he's done. In fact, he never _started._ We hate him. He's short, and kind of ugly, and he smells funny, and really...you know really we just don't like him very much at all. And we kind of sent him to...wherever...hoping that he would, you know, _die_...or explode in a large fire, or have something else happen to him that would make him equally not alive. So, effective immediately he's exiled from Irk and all privileges therein…including the snack bar. Aaaaand we're blowing up the base with the hope he's inside."

Dib started in surprise. "The whole base!"

"Yes" the alien repeated condescendingly. "The _entire_ base."

"Why are you bothering to blow up the base if he's exiled?"

Purple stared at Dib as if that were a ludicrous question. "Explosions are fun."

"Then why don't you just blow Zim up?"

The alien's eyes narrowed. Slowly, Red sidled back into view of the camera, an identical expression plastered across his narrow features.

"His backpack thing gives off a signal" Dib continued, eyeing the pair with a smug look at his own detective skills. "I know because it interferes with the TV whenever he comes over. If you have the technology to blow up the base, why don't you just lock onto Zim's signal and detonate _him_?"

"Hey!" Red snapped. "Who are the conquerors delivering the ultimatum here?"

"Yeah! Cease the 'moving of the mouth' thing and stand in awe like you're supposed to!"

Dib stared. "Can't you just—"

"No 'justing!' Awe!"

"But—"

"AWE!"

Dib sputtered and fell speechless. He couldn't believe this. It was only after remaining quiet for several seconds that he realized his silence could be construed as submission. He was just opening his mouth to correct the situation when Red stalked violently off camera mumbling something about "The nerve..." and Purple began talking again.

"_**As** _I was saying: Zim's time for playing soldier is up. Although I'm no longer sure about sparing your wretched backwater planet if it's filled with _insolents _such as yourself—"

"INSOLENTS!" came a shout from the background.

"—we'd rather use this opportunity to blast Zim into a _million tiny pieces!_ Maybe we'll swing by and destroy you guys later. So anyway, that's it! Tell Zim all that when you see him, 'kay? Thanks!"

Grinning madly, Purple turned sideways, allowing Dib to finally see that he was standing in some sort of control room. Behind him a semicircle of what looked to be Irken technicians were each typing away furiously at their own individual computer screens. Raising a skinny hand, Purple made a cutting motion across his throat. Then he seemed to remember something as he turned back to the camera.

"Oh, and kid?" he said as an afterthought. "You might want to start running...or something."

The words had no sooner left the Irken leader's mouth when the ground beneath Dib's feet began to tremble violently, sending all of Zim's equipment crashing to the floor in a horrible clamor.

**Attention! **an authoritative voice boomed over the din. **Destruct sequence activated! Lower levels detonating! Time remaining to destruction of mainframe and all remote systems: Soon to very soon.**

Almost on instinct, Dib sidestepped to avoid getting beamed in the head by a falling computer monitor and spun towards the first escape that came to him—a large door set into the wall on the other side of the room. The last thing he'd remember before the blur of terror and desperation in the mad race for his life would be stubbing his toe on a fallen pipe...and the words of one lingering voice as he ducked out of that first room:

"Okay okay!" Purple giggled. "Now it's my turn! Truth…or _Dare_?"

--------------------

It took all of Dib's skills and memory to navigate the complex, labyrinthine corridors of Zim's underground stronghold in less than one minute and live to tell about it. As it was, he had just stepped foot on the front lawn when the building behind him became engulfed in a strange alien ball of crackling violet energy. The field fluctuated for a split second, creating a deafening thrumming sound that caused the bones in Dib's skeleton to vibrate violently, freezing him in his tracks. Then, just as he thought he was about to burst, the residential gas mains beneath Zim's house ruptured from the pressure and he was catapulted forward with the force of the subsequent explosion as alien and human energies became one.

He landed hard on his stomach in the street and slid forward on the asphalt, scratching the delicate skin on his face and palms. Not twenty feet away a large piece of flaming debris crashed to the ground and caught the blades of Zim's highly realistic, but still quite alien, grass in its hungry arms. Oblivious to all pain and feeling, Dib scrambled numbly to his feet, trembling from his narrow escape, and gawked at the forty-foot fire that now claimed the spot where Zim's ugly green house had once stood. He was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering in the street, voices chattering excitedly at the suffering of another...then a thick accent screeching in his direction.

"That's him!" a familiar country voice sliced through the haze. "That's the kid I dun see botherin' that poor foreign child all the tyme!"

A rough hand instantly grabbed Dib by the collar of his shirt and slammed him, stomach-first, over a white car hood.

"Afternoon, son" a smooth voice addressed him in his left ear. "My name's Detective Murphy, and I'll be your arresting officer today."

--------------------

"I _told _you! The kid that lives in that house is an alien! And I didn't blow it up! His leaders did! They're these tall—are you even listening to me!"

The portly policeman sitting across the interrogation table jumped, causing the pencil he had been balancing on his nose to clatter to the desktop. "Sure, toy soldiers, heard every word. But here's what I have a problem with, kid: I have a burning house in the middle of a subdivision...and you're sitting right here in front of me."

Dib blinked. "Are you _kidding _me! That doesn't even make any sense! What kind of cop are you!" He grunted in frustration as he tried without success to raise his hands in some kind of gesticulation. "And why'd you have to handcuff me to the bottom of the desk! I told you I'd cooperate! I'm not a psycho killer or anything!"

The policeman shook his head and began to furiously scribble on a piece of paper in front of him. "Sounds like a confession to me. Now, if you wouldn't mind just signing here..."

"That's not what I said!"

A hand slid over Dib's right shoulder and calmly pushed the paper away. "Sorry" Detective Murphy apologized. "My partner's just eager to learn what happened."

Dib scowled as he followed the movement of the detective around the table with his eyes. "I don't know what else you want, or why I'm even still here. I told you what happened."

"You're here because you won't tell the truth."

"No, I'm telling the truth. I'm still here because it's just not the one _you_ want to listen to!"

Murphy sat on the table and began flipping through a crude stack of hand-written notes. "Yes, I see: superior alien races, Earth in the balance, conspiracy, espionage, heroism, bologna. Sounds exciting...for a Saturday morning cartoon. Having an imagination is good, boy, but the game stops when people get hurt."

"It's not a game."

"Not to Mr. and Mrs..." he consulted a sheet lying on the table, "...Normel Huemin, that's for sure. They owned the house you set fire to."

Dib glanced at the property papers sprawled out before him. "You actually believe these are authentic!"

"They were pulled from the city database."

"They're filled out in purple crayon! And Zim made his social security number sixteen digits long! With letters in it! And a smiley face with a speech bubble at the end that says 'Not a Fake'! Who even _accepted _this! What kind of people do you have working for the governme—Actually, you know what, never mind."

"Paperwork doesn't lie, son. So how'd you do it? Pipe bombs? Homemade explosives? Ten-year-old fruitcake doused in kerosene? It would have taken a long time to set all those up and get that kind of fire. Did you charm your way in? Befriend their son?"

"First of all, 'they' are robots! And secondly, their 'son' is an—"

"Yeah, alien, I know. I know." The detective sighed and stood to his feet, his hands in his pockets. "All right, if that's the way you want it. You just sit tight and we'll be back." He slapped his "partner" on the shoulder to wake him up. "Hey! What's-your-name! Come on. I think we've heard everything we need."

And with that, the interrogation ended.

"Morons" Dib groused under his breath as the door slammed behind the policemen. He turned around as best he could in his seat to glare through the one-way glass blocking his view of the hallway before settling down to wait. He had a feeling this was going to take a while.

The cops had been grilling him for hours about what had happened to Zim's house. When faced with the law Dib knew it was a bad idea to lie, but he was beginning to think telling the truth wasn't getting him anywhere either...not that screaming about aliens ever had...

He sighed and sunk further into his hard, straight-backed wooden chair, swinging his feet in exasperation. The room around him offered little in the ways of entertainment. There was the one-way glass wall and the door behind him, of course, and a camera up in the lower back-hand corner next to a thin rectangular window secured with iron bars. Through it Dib could see the smallest inkling of light that must have been shining in from street-level. The dark, cement room he was in was large enough to be a basement, and Dib suspected it had simply been converted into an interrogation room to save on space, or perhaps funding. Detective Murphy hadn't appreciated the question when he'd asked if that was true.

With nothing left to distract him Dib was forced to focus on the events from earlier that day—a subject he'd been trying his best to stay away from. When dealing with Zim failure was always a possibility...but not in the form of death, and the fight for his life had, admittedly, left Dib a little shaken. In addition, the message the Tallests had given him to relay nagged at his mind and sat as a weight at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn't get that one word out of his head...

..._playing_...

Tallest Purple had said that Zim's time for "playing soldier" was up. Dib wanted to believe that the Tallests meant up until now Zim hadn't been serious, he hadn't been trying his hardest. But it was the _disdain _in the words that gave their true meaning away, and the haphazard nature in which they'd been delivered. Playing meant...playing—as in some kind of part that, from the sound of it, was an insult even when fake. And that invariably led Dib to ask himself:

If Zim had been a fake all this time...then what was he?

He sighed. Of course, there was a distinct possibility that it didn't matter anymore. Zim had just as much chance of being dead as he had being alive, as Dib had no idea where his enemy was when the base detonated. He'd tried to think in between answering interrogation questions where that pipe from the living room went, but he couldn't bring the schematics of the house to memory. In all the shock and confusion and doubt Dib hadn't had much leisure to contemplate what could have happened to Zim. He did know, however, that there was no way the Irken could have survived if he was trapped in the house when it exploded. Unless he had somehow managed to get out, the perverse dwelling was probably his grave.

Dib's head rose from against his chest. As if goaded by the thought of his enemy, the hair on the back of his neck had suddenly stood on end. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the small window overhead...and met with two pools of magenta hate glaring back at him in the darkness. Without a single sound Zim slipped nimbly through the vertical bars and dropped inside.

Dib leapt to his feet, sending his chair skittering backwards across the floor. Instinctively he tried to shift away from the threat on the other side of the room, but his handcuffs quickly snapped taught. Forced to make a stand where he was, he straightened his back and fixed a solid glare at the shadowed corner where he knew Zim stood.

The smell of charred skin and clothing reached him almost immediately. Dib couldn't see very well with the pockets of light cutting across the cement walls at odd angles, but it looked as if Zim had been fairly close to the house when it blew. His antennae were frazzled which made them appear thicker than normal, and the one still had the crease in it from earlier. Fine wisps of smoke curled upward from dark charred patches of exposed skin, mostly around Zim's chest and arms, and it looked as if some of the rubber on his uniform had melted. Dib knew what that felt like; he sported similar injuries on his back from the heat of the fire.

Seeing Zim alive left Dib a little relieved and a little disappointed. But neither emotion got in the way of the normal routine which, despite everything that had happened, he reassumed with gusto.

"Ha!" he shouted, handcuffs jingling as he tried, and failed, to point. "You've really screwed up _this _time, _Zim_! That security camera on the wall is active and taping and the second the officers see it they'll _know _what you are!"

He received no reaction. It was stunning how quickly the silence that stretched across the room began to make him nervous. Zim was just standing there...watching him. In reality, the camera on the wall was off—Dib had seen the officers unplug it earlier—but there was no way Zim could have known that.

...Which meant that he didn't care...

Without a word, Zim began to move forward from the shadows. His walk was so different from everything Dib was used to seeing in his enemy. There was purpose to it—a concentrated form of _will _that guided his every step. His magenta eyes, unblinking, remained fixated on Dib as they held him entranced in their grip. He began to fidget beneath the stare.

"Zim what's wrong with you?"

No answer.

"You know, there—there are police right outside this door. They can see everything that goes on in here."

Again, no reaction.

"Detective Murphy..."

"They cannot hear you, Dib" an uncharacteristically calm voice drifted darkly from the opposite side of the room. "The police humans are farther down the hall. Even if they ran they couldn't get here in time." Zim's claws curled at his sides. "I only need a few seconds."

He continued to stalk forward at a slow, almost hunting pace, as if giving his prey the time to realize it was hopelessly trapped. Dib finally recognized what it was in Zim's steps that made him so nervous. It was _purpose—_concentrated, tactful purpose that looked so _strange _on Zim it sent shivers up his spine.

Shifting his feet, Dib glanced back towards the one-way glass and felt his usual defiance begin to leave him. This...wasn't right. This wasn't how things between he and Zim were supposed to go! It was a change in the pattern, and Dib was shocked to discover that he was more wary of that look in Zim's glassy alien eyes than he had ever been of any of the Irken's hair-brained schemes. He pulled back harder from the desk like a dog on a leash, trying to put some distance between himself and the threat. "W-what are you going to do?"

Zim remained expressionless as he reached the other side of the table and rested on it with both hands. His voice was calm and even, robbed of its usual manic fervor by the rage coursing through him. "I am going to return to the Tallests and resupply. I will acquire a new house, a new computer, a new S.I.R., and then I will return and continue my infiltration of this worthless planet. This war is not over, _my mission _is not over—but first and foremost, I am going to take care of you, _Dib._"

"Detective Murphy!"

"The time has come for me to end this."

"DETECTIVE MURPHY!"

Zim stomped his foot. "I ALREADY SAID THEY CANNOT HEAR YOU!" The desk splintered as his nails contorted into claws. "You're _mine_, human!"

"Zim, listen!" The handcuffs were beginning to cut into Dib's wrists. "It was going to happen eventually! It's nothing _personal!_ And it's not...I mean you can't just...! You can't just come in here and _kill _me! It's lame! It's an insult! You—you're...!" He paused, his expression going blank with sudden horror. "...You're a sore loser..."

Zim grit his teeth. "You have _not_ won."

Dib struggled harder to get free as he finally began to see something he had overlooked, something he had never thought through, something so _obvious_ yet he hadn't prepared for. "Of course you are" he gasped to himself. Then, frantically: "Zim wait! I didn't—I mean I did _eventually _want to destroy your base—but this was an accident!"

"I know that! The very idea that you're even a _match _for an Irken Elite is ridiculous! But this little flicker of luck will spell your doom nonetheless!"

Dib bristled angrily. "Luck?" he repeated, gathering speed. "You're talking to me about _luck_! That time I forgot my briefcase for the Swollen Eyeballs conference? The time that _stupid _school counselor took off with those aliens and _my video tape_? All the times my cameras got destroyed or ran out of film when I was _so _close? All those people who just _happened _to look the other way when I got you into the open! No way! YOU are the one that rides on luck, Zim! And _this _time, your luck's run out!" Dib leered forward, teeth bared, "I _beat _you! That's right! Me! I won, Zim! I've obliterated your base, destroyed your computer, foiled your entire invasion...! Your—your technology, your experiments, your ugly living room, your _annoying _little half-crazed robot! Gone! And it's all staring you in the face except that you're too _stupid _to see that you've _failed_ against me in every way! And you know what? You were doomed to fail from the _beginning!_ This whole thing was rigged! Your leaders weren't even—"

But Dib never got to say any more. With an inhuman shriek Zim leapt over the table, mechanical legs out and scrabbling for purchase on the finely-polished surface. Dib jumped backwards to escape as papers and wood chips flew violently into the air but the handcuffs kept him in place. Before he knew what was happening Zim's claws were at his throat, and he was running out of air.

Dib gasped desperately with Zim's twisted, sneering face only inches from his own. Abandoning his arms, he kicked his feet wildly but he was being held off the ground and well out of range of anything to hit. He'd used that trick one too many times for it not to be expected.

The world began to sink beneath a haze. Dib hugged his consciousness stubbornly to his chest, determined not to lose it, but he was smart enough to know he was fighting a losing battle. Already it seemed as if he were hearing the world through ten feet of mattresses. His heart pounded louder and louder in his ears—the approaching song of oblivion. His thrashes died to nothing as it took all his energy to concentrate on forcing his lung muscles to keep working. He swallowed desperately, nearly gagging on his own spit, and then was struck with the type of divine inspiration that only comes along when clutching at the very last threads of life. Working his tongue awkwardly around in his mouth, Dib arched his neck as best he could and spit directly into Zim's eye.

A piercing shriek splintered his brain and he was released roughly to the floor. Dib fell to his knees, wrists forced above his head by the handcuffs, and gasped lungfuls of precious air back into his body. Before him, Zim held his hands to his face trying to stifle the searing pain the water-based saliva had ignited in his eyes. His Pak legs thrashed about wild and uncontrolled as he staggered blindly within the room, stabbing at everything within reach. The chair was picked up and thrown into a far wall. Dib was caught on his side and fell hard to the ground where his forearm was slashed by a pointed metal tip. Finally, one of Zim's Pak legs lashed out and slammed into the double-reinforced glass wall. The powerful appendage shattered the window as if it were made out of paper, sending shards blasting outward into the empty hallway. No one was hurt, but the commotion was more than enough to divert the entire police station's attention to Interrogation Room 4. Zim had just enough sense left to drag himself back through the window before a herd of officers stormed into the room.

The sergeant on duty arrived first and took in the scene in an eye blink: Dib kneeled on the floor struggling for air, red marks on his arm, blood dripping from a wound on the underside of his wrist. He rushed forward and shouted for the medics as he kneeled at the child's side.

"This is why we have someone watching the rooms!"

The handcuffs were undone and Dib was laid supine on the floor, his neck supported by a gentle, calloused hand.

The sergeant breathed a sigh of relief. The boy was going to be fine. Fortunately he'd lost the balls before he could go through with it. He took a moment to glance around the destroyed room and wonder how the kid had managed it. Then again...who knew with this one. As the medics arrived, the sergeant stood and exited, stopping just long enough to issue a hushed order to the nearest officer.

Dib was placed on suicide watch within the hour.

--------------------

The policemen were much more wary of him after the attack. They didn't ask what happened, and though Dib told them anyway he was still moved downstairs to an isolated holding cell contained within its own room. A guard was posted at the door at all times, but refused to tell Dib why he was being treated so strangely. The only answers he got were in the forms of, "Be quiet" and "You've got so much to live for." After an hour of asking questions and getting no answers, Dib settled into a thoughtful silence and, as always, tried to work things out for himself.

Then, he got a visitor.

"Dad!"

Dib shot up on the prison cot as he caught a glimpse of his father's white lab coat though the bars of his cell within a cell. The famous scientist was walking with two officers and didn't seem to have much of an interest in anything within the prison. He didn't glance around as he walked, and, consequently, didn't see his son as he passed.

Dib raced to the front of his cell and gripped the bars with white knuckles as he strained his head to get a better look at what was going on. Through the odd angle provided by the bars and the layout of the jail he could only see the side profile of the three men, and it was a distorted view at best. His father and the officers were talking at the far end of the cells, almost a hundred feet away. The very slight, yet telltale slant of his father's head told him they were discussing a grave matter...obviously. But judging from Membrane's hand motions he was doing most of the talking. The officers simply kept exchanging wary looks.

There were several minutes of conversation during which two more men, whom Dib recognized as Detective Murphy and the sergeant, came down to join in. Then, after a few reluctant nods and a round of handshakes, the sergeant and detective returned upstairs and Membrane and the two officers turned together and started walking towards Dib's cell—the two guards in front, and Membrane striding behind.

"Dad!"

Dib leapt forward the minute his prison door was opened. He couldn't remember the last time he had hugged his father, much less talked to him, but he didn't care. When all was said and done he was still eleven years old and the sight of a parent in this scary place was enough to instill the relief any child would feel. Membrane patted him absently on the head as he said a few parting words to the police. Dib didn't hear any of their conversation. He just knew the police were letting him go, and he didn't care why.

--------------------

It wasn't until they were standing in the police station lobby that Dib began to dread the car ride home. As the receptionist handed him back his meager belongings that had been taken from him during the arrest, he suddenly felt overwhelmingly ashamed. He walked out of the police station alongside his father—his famous, well-respected father—with his head hung and his hands shoved deep into his trench coat pockets. It seemed Membrane had come to the station in such a hurry that he hadn't been able to fire up one of his amazing transportation vehicles. The two approached their lackluster, black, four-door family Buick and each climbed into their respective seats.

Dib said nothing as they merged into traffic. He picked at the armrest with his fingers and tried to remember the last time he saw his father drive an ordinary civilian car to keep himself from tearing up. Then he began to mentally recite the periodic table of elements, beginning with Hydrogen. _Hydrogen: atomic number 1, atomic weight 1.00794; Helium: atomic number 2, atomic weight 4.002602..._He had just reached the atomic weight of Scandium when, finally, Membrane moved to break the silence.

"So how is your para-research coming, son?"

If Dib had been eating something, he would have choked. He glanced over at his father, uncertain and a little afraid at the interest in Membrane's tone. He hadn't really been expecting a volatile reprimand—his family had never worked that way—but normal conversation? If it was a punishment, it was ingenious. Dib couldn't remember the last time he'd been this edgy around his dad. "Uh...good..."

"You _are _being thorough, aren't you? The key to any good scientific endeavor is the gathering and maintenance of information."

"Well...I mean, I...yes but...Um, why are you asking me this?"

Membrane sighed. Dib recognized the signal as the start of one of his father's "frank" moments—the short, trite rarities in which he stepped out of Professor mode and tried, with miserable failure, to be a parent. "I believe I have made an error, son. It pains me to admit it, but even the _greatest scientists known to man_ can miscalculate from time to time. Despite my propensity for noticing and observing evidence, I have missed something you have been trying to tell me your entire life. But the time for fixing...is _now!_ I have instructed Simmons _not _to interrupt me until I am finished! I want to hear everything about your research."

"You...you mean it? You're actually going to _listen _to me?"

"Not just listen, son. _Learn._"

Dib couldn't believe it. His father had feigned tolerance of his interests before, but this was the first time he had ever _actively _requested for...well..._anything _that Dib had to say. To describe Dib as "excited" wouldn't even have begun to pinpoint his feelings. He was overjoyed and relieved and flattered; but, most of all, he was eager to please.

"Wow! Well...okay! Um, first thing: That _kid _you keep letting in the house, he's not a kid! Don't ever let him in again! He's an _alien _bent on _world domination _on behalf of his _evil alien race, _the Irkens! They're these little _green _things that are bald and horrible and just...evil! He put bologna in my DNA!"

Though Dib leapt on the opportunity to lecture to his father about his paranormal interests, he didn't do so blindly or without skepticism. As he continued to talk, however, he realized that Professor Membrane _was _actually listening. Though Dib's family had never been big on communication, they were experts at reading each others' body language—often the only thing they had to go on—and right now Membrane was concentrating on his every word. The characteristic looked strange on him...mostly because Dib had never seen it at the same time his mouth was open. He'd feared at first what his father would do once he learned of the fire and the destruction of an entire house, but maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it was just the type of disaster Membrane needed to wake up and realize that nothing here was going to change.

Maybe, Dib thought, something in his life was finally going right.

* * *

Poor Dib :(

So, there we go! Liked it? Hated it? Found a plothole? Care to speculate? Let me know via review, email, livejournal, IM, wherever. I get numb after rewriting and rereading these chapters fifty _trillion_ times so it's not uncommon that I miss stuff. And I use your reactions to gauge how the story is coming across, which helps me make changes and improvements to it as I go. So _contribute! _It would make Pustullio happy to know this thing.

If you're looking for something a little extra you can always swing by my livejournal in the next couple days and check out the **Extras post **for this chapter. There should be quite a bit of content this time. Other than that, until we meet again!

–twitches– _pooooetry_


	6. Awaken

Woo! Look what I haaaaave! You want it? _You want it?_ Of course you do.

**NOTE:** It may be a good idea to reread the last section of chapter 5 before you start, beginning when Membrane comes to pick Dib up from jail. Trust me, it'll help get your rusty Restitution gears a-grindin'

Other than that...I got nothing. Except the disclaimer that says I don't own any of these characters and this is just for fun.

As always, a big awesome thanks goes out to my two big awesome beta readers: **thejennamonster **and **DelphinBella.** Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 6

"You told him everything" Zim narrated. "Stupid."

The words echoed hollowly in the ebbing tide of past memories that had been unleashed upon Dib's unsuspecting mind. His first reaction upon regaining his motor functions was to squelch the overpowering urge to vomit rising up from his gut. His second was to stop the chaos that had been unleashed—to clamp down hard and fast on the insubordination his sanity had suddenly decided it was going to unleash upon him and his entire life. It was a defense mechanism that was so practiced and so routine by now that it only appeared to Dib in the form of a single, insistent, nonsensical denial:

_I don't want to think about this._

Unfortunately, with the help of Zim, the small voice that had been struggling for attention at the back of his thoughts had finally gained a foothold, and was bracing against him with ten years' worth of unused strength. Little by little, Dib lost ground to its determination. And it was determined to never be silent again.

Everything that he thought was his life was slowly falling away. It slipped through his grasping fingers like the threads of an unraveled scarf disappearing into oblivion. Dib remembered himself as always being so in charge, so _in control._ Now, with all semblance of logic and order scattered into the wind, there was nothing left for his scrabbling consciousness to grab onto to make sense of any of this.

He _needed_ some kind of mental ground to stand on; he knew that much at least. Even if he couldn't rebuild everything about himself at once, he had to have at least one starting point to reorganize the rest of his existence around. But though he'd been given new pieces to work with—new cards in an old deck—Dib held them numbly in his hands without the faintest idea of what to do with them. And just a few feet away someone _else_ was already putting them into place at a rate far faster than he ever could.

_Zim._

In all his confusion, Dib did know one thing: He _hated _that power the little alien held. He hated it with an intensity and force that both shocked and scared him. Everything else could have been a lie, but Dib was slowly remembering the conniving will, the maniacal schemes and twisted contraptions that little _monster _could come up with. It worried him that Zim was the only one who knew what was going on. It scared him that Zim could be his only hope in trying to find himself again. But it absolutely _sickened _him to know that Zim was the only one who could tell him what he needed to hear.

"The first rule of war, human" the Irken continued, "is that you do not give the enemy any information they can use against you—and you broke it fantastically. Even _I _knew the only interest your male parental unit _ever _shows in _anything _is when one of his projects is concerned. A particle of interplanetary space dust would have recognized the first steps of the experimentation process faster than you." Zim shook his head in disgust. "Love. Such a worthless human sentiment. Although I suppose I do owe your pitiful scientist figurehead a small nod of acknowledgement. After all...without him you would have had ten years to plan for my return."

Small, black boots began to pace once again in an incessant dirge—back and forth, back and forth—but now the drumbeat was agitated, irregular. Too fast then too slow, the echoes melted into one another with little consideration to rhythm, reason, or order.

"I don't know how you did it..." the Irken growled through his teeth. "The base was completely destroyed. I sifted through the wreckage for hours after my tactful retreat and GIR was the only thing I was able to recover, inactive and in pieces. Everything connected to the mainframe system was obliterated: the house...the ships...the moon base...the gnomes...minimoose..._my robot bee_...

"...Everything...Oh you did a thorough job, you _despicable _human. A thorough job indeed, but the ingenuity of Invader Zim is resilient! True I lacked the facilities and the sufficient materials to construct a ship or contact the Tallests. But I still had my Pak!" He turned, glaring daggers into the full-grown human kneeling at his feet. "And I knew you had a ship."

"Tak..." Dib murmured.

"You remember." The words rang with a grim satisfaction. Zim stepped forward, his voice dropping an octave. "You thought you had beaten me. You thought you had _won._ But all you'd accomplished was a small upset in my unparalleled _evilry._ With Tak's ship at my disposal I knew getting on and off the planet would be no challenge, but then there was the question of what to do about _you._

"Perhaps as you sat in that human prison you thought you had chased me off? Or even that I had given up? Chosen to spare you from my wrath? HA! The wrath of Zim spares _no one!_" The Irken straightened. "But my responsibilities to the Tallest were more important. The humans had you sufficiently contained; you would cause no more trouble. And when I returned, you would be there to spend the next several _years _paying for this inconvenience!"

Zim spun again, walking away from Dib in a direct line. "It took me slightly longer than it should have to find the Tallests given the restricted functionality of that piece of _junk_ I was forced to work with. Breaking through your _meager_ security precautions was no difficulty, but the AI algorithm installed underneath gave me a little more trouble."

Dib twisted his face as he tried, almost painfully, to recall the fuzzy memory. "You...took the ship and turned it against me once. So when I...got it back...I...resubmitted my personality and started working on a way to make it permanent."

"Except your _tampering _geshploogled up the entire thing! I'd almost call it clever if I wasn't so sure you did it by accident! In any case, the ship's temperament was thoroughly askew. Had I taken it into space it may have disobeyed my instructions, or malfunctioned during the long flight. I was forced to shut down the entire system and install my own Pak into the motherboard."

Without warning Zim suddenly spun and leered with a deranged grin pulling his zippered teeth back at the edges. "I _became _the ship!" he hissed in an excited whisper. "Genius, yes?" He leapt forward crazily. "Wake up, Earth monkey, and appreciate this! No Irken in the _history_ of Irkdom has ever been able to fly a ship manually! The AI system is present because the _millions_ of calculations done every second to keep the vessel fully operational are too much, they say. TOO MUCH! But **_I _**did it! By straining out everything except the most vital functions I was able to pilot it myself _all the way to Irk!_"

Dib fought to stay still as he resisted the urge to forcibly shove Zim out of his personal space. This was too close, _too close!_ Something was wrong. Even with his crude memories of the little green menace Dib could tell that Zim wasn't the same. There was something...rabid...hovering beneath him—something _crazed _and _uncontrolled _trapped in a shell that was never supposed to handle such emotions.

Inches from Dib's face, Zim began grinding his teeth hard in his mouth. He wanted a response...so Dib drew a careful breath and took a chance.

"That still doesn't explain what we're doing here."

The tension evaporated as the Irken blinked and relaxed into his normal self. "I'M GETTING TO THAT! Shut your talking portal or I'll deactivate the muscles in your face!"

And then he was serious again, as quickly as flicking a switch. His head turned vacantly to the side as his eyes drifted through random wall. When he spoke his voice was stunningly hollow.

"I found the Massive at the edge of the Tetral Galaxy where it had stopped for fuel and supplies. I had tried several times during the voyage to contact the Tallests, but my signals weren't getting through, so I waited until their ship was in sight before trying again." His eyes narrowed. "As I approached, a pod of Spittle Runners drifted forward to escort me into the presence of the Tallests. But the _fool _pilots made a mistake! They opened fire! I thought it was because Tak's ship wasn't of a customary design, but my identification signal was transmitting perfectly! The ship practically _reeked _of the amazing odor of Zim! They _forced _me to retreat! And when I reversed and left they _followed _me! They **_pursued_** me! They didn't just want me driven away! They wanted me _eliminated!_" He spun to face Dib so he could share in the injustice. "Me! An IRKEN ELITE!"

The pacing started again, more frantic, more forceful—hands flailing, antennae flicking, claws slashing and teeth gnashing with limitless energy that had nowhere to go.

"How could this be! What had Zim done wrong! How had ZIM displeased them! I sat for _hours _in that REVOLTING cockpit pouring through my dealings with the Tallests to come up with some reason for this egregious fallacy! Was it the time I siphoned their ship fuel to power my galactic drink stand idea? No, I sent them a basket of wombats to atone! Was it the time I reprogrammed the Armada logos to display my face on the front? They looked better anyway! Was it the time I asked for a battle tank? Was it the time I escaped from Foodcourtia? Was it the time I took over the Massive? No! No! NO! It _couldn't_ be anything I did! My reports were always punctual! My plans _perfection!_"

His eyes honed on Dib. "But YOU! You always _ruined _them! That's how I knew. The problem wasn't with the ship, but with the _signal itself! _I was registering as an _enemy _to the Tallests! Someone had me re-encoded and YOU were the last one in my base!" He surged forward, gesturing to the computerized pod on his back. "You DID SOMETHING to me! And by the jellies of your _pathetic _human body I will gut it out of you with my bare _claws _if I have to!"

"...So that's what this is all about?" Dib asked suddenly. Something was breaking free. "_That's _why you ran me off the road, dragged me here, _murdered _a human being? For this!"

"Make no mistake, Dib! I would just as soon _kill _you, too, than have to look at you for another second! I would have done it when I first hunted you down upon returning if it wasn't for the fact that you didn't recognize me!"

"Wait...wait a minute. You're talking about a few weeks ago? At college? I was twelve years old when I last saw you, Zim! I'm twenty-two now! Of _course_ I didn't recognize you! I mean, do you realize that I can't even look you in the _eye _anymore unless I'm _kneeling on the ground!_"

"Yes...before the feet of ZIM! The position suits you."

"What the hell were you doing in space for ten years, anyway! Scratching your ass?"

"I WAS ONLY GONE FOR TWO!"

Dib fell into a stunned silence.

"There's a time...space...thing involved" Zim amended, misreading the human's pause. "Don't ask!"

But it wasn't the logic that had gotten Dib hung up. It was Zim. For a brief moment, on a strange, hidden, twisted, Zimmy level, he'd almost sounded...hurt.

Maybe it was Dib's older age that allowed him to detect it, or the small sliver of a scientifically-inclined mind that lingered at the back of his personality. But whatever it was, he'd struck a nerve...And it felt good.

So Zim was only out of the loop for two years? That explained a lot, the foremost of which was this anger he was still carrying around that was so much fresher than anything Dib would have expected...even for Zim. Small snippets of information began coming back to him as he thought further on the matter.

It was roughly six months to Irk and six months back if he remembered correctly from his notes...where were those anyway? Assuming Zim was rounding the time up, that meant he pretty much flew to Irk, discovered the fluke, spent some time trying to fix it, then gave up and came back.

Dib glanced to the Irken thoughtfully.

And therein was the whole problem. A sudden picture flashed through his mind of Zim stranded on some desolate, unpopulated planet too small and too pathetic to attract the Irken war machine's attention. Behind him his ship—or, rather, Tak's ship—lay in pieces as he gutted it for spare parts to run diagnostics on himself since he couldn't go to the Empire for supplies. He could have spent days, weeks, even months pouring through lines and lines of alien code looking to fix what he thought was wrong, to regain that defeat he'd sustained on Earth. He was running from his own mission, he was cut off from his people, he had no access to familiar technology, and his "moral support" in the form of the Tallests was calling in sick. And, in the end, he failed again. He was forced to give up and go back to Earth to hunt down a human of all things to tell him how to fix the problem.

Dib suddenly realized how lucky he was that he hadn't recognized Zim when the alien had finally caught up with him a few weeks ago. He never would have seen his own death coming. In turn, everything he was sensing in Zim that seemed so awry must have been the result of all of this—this gargantuan snowball that got started ten years ago when the Irken leaders had finally decided to turn off the switch to their attention. Death Zim could have handled—betrayal, execution, falling on a fork in the line of duty—but simply ignoring him until he faded into obscurity?

It was cruel, it was wicked, and it was genius. The Tallests had finally stumbled, however unwittingly, on the one treatment even Zim couldn't survive:

The Silent Treatment.

Dib felt a twisted sneer curl on his lips. It was just too delicious.

"What are you grinning at, _human?_"

"You are so pathetic. You gave up and came crawling back here to get _me_ to fix you. What's the matter? Too much for you to figure out, _space boy!_"

Zim's fists were trembling at his sides. "No, you fetid pile of slowly-rotting monkey flesh! Why waste precious time when I could simply return here and _make _you tell me!"

"Sounds like an excuse to me."

"You DARE—"

Dib shot to his feet, prompting Zim to immediately rise on his metal legs to match his height. "Yeah, I do! You think I broke into your base to change your _coding_! Are you listening to yourself! Do you _listen _to what comes out of your mouth when your lips move up and down!" His voice surged higher and then dropped low, adapting an excitable, erratic speech pattern that was a far leap from the controlled conversation usually used in laboratories. Something was pushing forward in Dib's personality and it was ravaging the opponent as it raced through the battlefield victorious. "How could I do that, Zim! The Irken programming language is based on a reciprocating variable algorithm that, even if it wasn't written in an entirely different alphabet, would take me _years _to decode! And even if I _had _cracked it, I could come up with something way cooler than just changing your ID status!"

"You're lying!"

"_You're _one to talk! You're the one who actually thinks he's an Invader! What? What's that? Oh, you have no idea what I'm talking about. Well here, let me _clue you in!_ Yes, I broke into your base which, by the way, wasn't hard. But I didn't get into your computer; I didn't even touch it! The only thing I did do was intercept a call from your "almighty" leaders that was meant for you! And you know what they said! THAT'S IT! They're _done_ with you! You're exiled, excommunicated!"

Zim's expression didn't change.

"Don't you get it!" Dib screamed. "You weren't registering as an enemy to the Empire! You weren't registering _AT ALL _to the Empire! They don't _want _you! That's what _exile _means! You flew all the way out there, and all the way back, and spent all that time looking for something wrong with you, but the only thing that's wrong with you is RIGHT HERE!"

Without warning Dib shot out a finger to tap twice, and none too gently, on Zim's gigantic green forehead. "And you want to know what all your work has amounted to! You want to know what _I _did in your base that day other than run for my life! Nothing! That's the grand and glorious secret, Zim! I did NOOOTHIIIING!" He drawled out the word in a perfect imitation of Ms. Bitters for no reason other than it felt damn good to do it. "I didn't _have _to because your _leaders _were the ones that blew up the base! Not me!"

Dib had tried his entire life to convince people of things they didn't want to believe. He had told tales of ghosts and Bigfoot and little green aliens that attended his sixth grade class. But Zim had been the first person—no, thing—to believe him. Zim had taken him seriously because he _had _to. Because he couldn't count on Dib's classmates or friends or even his family to deter him. Dib _knew _what he believed, and as long as he held that steadfast conviction, his stubborn nature would guide him to act upon it. But as Dib stood looking into Zim's buggy little eyes, he saw this was something that even Zim was not going to accept.

"LIES! FILTHY—HUMAN—LIES! The Tallests sent me on a _special mission!_ And you—"

"You are such an _idiot! _I can't believe you destroyed my _entire life _for THIS! I was happy, Zim! For the first goddamn time in my life I was happy! I _liked_ being normal! I _liked _not knowing about you or your stupid planet or all those things I cared about before! And just like that," he snapped his fingers, "you come in here and take a giant wrecking ball to everything!"

He paused, his breath heaving in his chest. "But that's what you want...isn't it? That's _really _what this is all about. This isn't about the Tallests. This isn't about your mission or even your revenge. You could have fixed all of this yourself—erased the computer data, reorganized your code. You could have done a _thousand _other things than follow me all the way here. But you wouldn't have—not in a million years—because this isn't about _any_ of that." Dib paused as his fists clenched at his sides. "This is about me."

Crimson eyes narrowed into venomous slits.

"You can't stand the fact that I forgot about you. And it was the best thing that's ever happened to me. This whole thing is just some pathetic, futile way for you to get a little attention."

"Do not speak to me about futility, _human!_" Zim hissed in instant response. "_You _are the one that so desperately seeks the acceptance of those around you, who tries so hopelessly to assimilate into the collective at the expense of yourself! You know your own filthy race better than I ever could! So tell me, _Dib._ What will you do when the invasion finally comes and you are proved to be right? Dance in the streets amidst your converted followers? Revel in the praise of those that once doubted you, ridiculed you, humiliated you? Or would you rather remain on your current path and stick your head in the sand so your self-obsessed father can maintain his pristine image!"

"...What?"

In the process of working himself up into a much longer rant Zim had stumbled on the words without realizing it. He paused when he noticed Dib's reaction to what he'd said and then gave a wicked, open-mouthed smile. "Oh that's right" he cooed in mock sympathy. "You know nothing about that, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

Zim glanced at his nails with a bored tone. "I don't pretend to care about your pathetic human interests to any degree, make no mistake. But when I first returned and discovered you no longer recognized me, I knew there had to be a reason. Not even you could forget something like that. And if you didn't remember me then there was a good chance you didn't remember what I needed to know, so I was forced to figure out how your filthy mind had gotten lost in the first place. In short, I looked into it."

He glanced up. "I will say my research into the Professor's work did produce an interesting...glimpse...into the, shall we say, subject of human pride. There was actually a much clearer regimen of logic than I expected." He sneered. "The house was the last straw. Dib was an embarrassment that needed to be dealt with. Ergo, Dib was destroyed."

Dib tried to swallow in a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. He felt sick.

_It's a lie._

It was his first instinct, his first kickback reflex of denial rushing to the rescue. But this time someone else pushed it aside. Dib didn't want to ask. He didn't want the horrible thing he could sense hovering beneath all this out in the open where he could never un-hear it again. But this other person did—this person who was younger and sharper and more demanding and more excitable and much more suspicious than himself. So this person did what needed to be done.

"What did he do to me?"

Zim simply smiled in that queer, disgusting way his species contorted their faces to display the emotion. With a deft flick of his gloved wrist a familiar silver orb leapt into his open palm where he brandished it with a flourish so Dib could see. A quick spark of crackling electricity leapt across the tiny object's metal surface, illuminating it for a brief moment with a barely-visible blue glow.

"Apparently nothing a little neural trauma can't fix."

"That's it? That's all I get?"

The alien's eyes narrowed. "I have no desire to delve into the convoluted mechanics of the inferior human mind with you, Dib. You may simply know that whatever _was_ done has been _un_done by Zim."

"...You're lying." Dib's mouth set into a determined line as he was instantly bolstered with a sudden onrush of absolute conviction. "Dad wouldn't do that."

"You can't have it both ways, human. Your limbic system has been restored to my satisfaction; your memory is now functioning as properly as I need it. The very fact that you recall the amount of time it takes to travel from here to Irk is proof that it's working."

"You could have made everything up. How do I know what that freaky little thing in your hand does?"

Zim opened his mouth to snap a sharp reply, but then seemed to think better of it. With a flick of his hand, the disk disappeared. "Actually...you may be onto something. After all, everything you have right now is only at the grace and behest of Zim." He twitched his fingers as if manipulating a puppet. "I could remold you into anything I wanted and you'd never be the wiser. How can you be sure any of this is true?"

The urge to vomit suddenly bubbled up in Dib again. The threads were starting to come together, but now he saw that Zim was doing the retying, tainting each and every one with his evil little claws. It was only because of _him _that Dib was seeing any of this at all. Only because of _his _needs and _his _whims that this curtain was being lifted. Zim had given him back what he'd lost...but it was the foulest, dirtiest, most violating thing Dib had ever experienced. He'd never be able to live his life again without associating Zim with it in one way or another. He didn't need to visit this, too.

Zim's smile widened with every second. "You humans are such wretched things" he said offhandedly. "Always too busy saving yourselves. And win or lose, your struggles still amount to nothing. At least when Irkens seek to survive they seek to protect the Empire."

"So what are you here protecting, Zim?" Dib answered bitterly. "What great service does dragging my ass all the way up here for this enlightening chat do for your benevolent Tallests? Face it, you didn't do this for anyone but yourself. And even then when you go to all this trouble, you still can't bring yourself to destroy me. The game's no fun with only one player, is it _Zim?_ I'm the only one that pays any attention to you."

"Do not flatter yourself!" Zim snapped in a rage. "I could end your meager human life right now! It means nothing to me!"

Dib straightened, flailing his arms as his words gathered speed. "Then why am I breathing! Huh! Why am I still here! If I'm so _worthless_, then why the _fuck_ did you leave me unconscious in that car! Because you _wanted _me to wake up! Isn't that right, Zim! You wanted to gain my attention all over again! Well it won't work! You're not controlling my life anymore! _**I** _control it! And paranormalist or not, scientist or not, _I _will decide which way it goes! _Not _you!"

Zim gave a self-satisfying smirk. His eyes trailed down once again to the ring on Dib's right hand, but this time they were a little too aware...a little too knowing.

"It seems to me" Zim said, "that decision has already been made for you for quite some time."

"You son of a bitch."

And that was the end of it. Zim and Dib's hate towards one another had grown to such a point that even the most powerful of words were unable to express it. As they squared off for the final time they both knew there was only one thing left that would satisfy this contest once and for all.

Someone wouldn't be leaving here alive.

* * *

Oooo! Hope everyone liked it! Don't forget to drop me a review if you have something to say. Hopefully by now you know that I'd _love _to hear it.

Extras will be up on my livejournal in a couple of days. Until then, just read this over and over dozens of times ;)


	7. Goodbye

-scuffles into view- Here it is. I've finally got it. I know, I know! Only took me -checks watch- 5 months. Waaah! Sorry! But, as always, holding off was worth it. This chapter is just _critical _critical and there were some spots that were giving me trouble. They didn't want to floooow. And, as we all know, critical spots must floooow in order to be good. Thank you so much for all of your patience, and thank you thank you THANK YOU for all of your reviews so far. They've all been wonderful and many of them have been a great help in guiding me through some changes that needed to be made.

Yes! So! Enough with that...HERE IT IS! GET EXCITED! All 11 pages of Restitution-y goodness! Most people should be able to remember where we left off from the last chapter without too much difficulty, as it was in a very easy spot, but in case you forgot, here is the last line:

"Someone wouldn't be leaving here alive."

Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 7

This time, Dib didn't attack first; he let Zim make the opening mistake. And when the rabid little psychopath got close enough within reach, he rammed his fist down on the disgusting green head with as much force as his body would allow.

As it turned out, that happened to be quite a bit.

Zim let out a strangled cry of pain and shock as his front legs buckled to keep him from contacting with the ground. There was a series of clicks and whirrs as his Pak responded without guidance to keep his weight aloft. Then he was pushing forward again, ready to repay the damage tenfold.

Dib threw himself into Zim with everything he had, not caring what he was doing, where he got hit, or if he lived or died. His body, too, slipped into the single-minded purpose of an unfailing machine—one devoid of caution or reason as it faithfully followed the one and only command he gave it:

_Kill._

Dib had always been a dirty fighter. He used everything to his advantage including teeth, nails, arms, legs, and any nearby objects that could be used to inflict damage. It came from having to defend himself from jocks and bullies so often when he was young. As many kids in his elementary skool had quickly discovered tiny little Dib wasn't above a sharp poke in the eye or a knee to the groin. But in all those years spent fighting Dib had never had to battle for his life, and he'd never needed to attack, only defend. He'd flail for as long as it took to drive his opponent away, then slink off somewhere to lick his wounds and recover until next time.

Now, Dib had no reason to do what he was doing other than the clear, simple motivation of hate. He was going to kill Zim for making him remember he even _had _all those fights in elementary skool in which to compare this one. He was going to kill Zim for showing him there was ten years' worth of himself, wallowing happily in a shameful cloud of stupidity and ignorance, to rip apart and destroy. He was going to kill Zim for forcing him to stop and think about all these things when he really just wanted to let them _go._

But, most of all, Dib was going to kill Zim because he hated him.

And he hated Zim...because he couldn't hate his father.

Unlike before where the battle moved in a surreal state of slow-motion that allowed Dib to see each kick and punch but react to none, this one passed in a blur. He ducked and weaved through each of Zim's strikes as if he had been built for this conflict, as if his pathetic waste of a life all boiled down to this tiny, insignificant day. Sometimes he was missed. Sometimes he was hit. But Dib didn't care. For someone who had nothing left, not even the memory of who they once were, at least _this _was something he could wrap his hands around and _squeeze _the sparkling little light of life from until his bare fingers ached from the effort.

A curt uppercut to the jaw forced him backwards off his opponent. In his place, two large hand prints flared white on Zim's neck, the phantom fingers curling upward to dead-end into several angry, curled points. There was a grim satisfaction to be drawn from the look of shock on Zim's face as he raised a claw to his own throat, but Dib didn't take the time to drink it in. He lunged forward again and the pain and hatred and self-loathing continued from both sides of the ring.

They could have fought for hours. They could have fought for days. Dib was too lost in himself and his own personal satisfaction to pay any attention. He'd never experienced anything like this before. The more pain he received the more he wanted to inflict. It felt so good...it surged through him, _consumed _him—a lifetime's culmination of anger and frustration brought down in a single moment upon the one person who deserved it the most! This was his mission! This was his life! This—was—_everything!_

...Or was he playing directly into Zim's hands?

The world exploded in a sudden burst of pain. A thick spray of blood streaked hot across Dib's face as he staggered back with an anguished cry. His hand flew on instinct to his right shoulder where the sick sound of metal scraping against bone told him he'd been stabbed. He wrapped slick fingers around the shaft of the Pak leg, trying somehow to stave off the damage, but Zim was already pulling away in his own reaction of surprise.

The pain had been intended. The wound was accidental.

The two flew apart as if a bomb had been set off between them, and the battle came to a sudden, horrified halt.

They stared at one another. Between them, the metal appendage still hovered at the ready, poised and waiting to strike, a fine coat of crimson now covering its end. Zim held it at length as if unwilling to associate with it, but couldn't break the stare he held on its tip. Neither could Dib. For a moment, time seemed to slow between the two as they watched a single, red drop fall to the ground. Their eyes then came up into each other—pensive...unsure...searching...

Blood had never been drawn between them before. Zim and Dib had both roughed each other up in the past, but never had either received an injury any more serious than a sprawling bruise or a wounded ego. This development had the potential to end their little game forever...if they wanted it to.

Zim was the first to recover, perhaps because he was, by nature, more analytical. Through a surreal haze Dib watched the Irken tilt the leg upwards into the light, turning it this way and that to examine the tip from every angle. Scientifically, Zim had to have known what blood was; he had to have known everything about the human body and the biological mechanics that made it work. But he wasn't examining the substance on his leg because it was red and shiny and carried oxygen to the brain. He was examining it because it was _Dib's, _and _Dib's _blood was something he had never seen before.

As Dib stood by, dumbly clutching his shoulder, he realized he was watching the last layer of his own invincibility slowly peel itself away before his eyes. Whatever distances Zim had once held him from the rest of the human race, whatever privileges or mercies that had gained him along the way, wouldn't be present for much longer. Something was stirring to life that made him shudder at the sight of it, much as he had shuddered in the jail for the first time when he realized he'd played the final, fatal card.

Zim was a soldier, a warrior—a creature far older and far more experienced in battle and warfare than Dib had ever given him credit for. How many other enemies had he confronted just like this? Sworn in his evil, hissing voice that they were his greatest foe? How many different shades of blood stained his hands? And how many others had met their end from getting sucked into his world?

Dib didn't want to think about it...especially because it looked as if Zim was finally beginning to figure out there was no reason for one human child to have lasted against him for this long.

For the first time, Dib realized he was looking into the eyes of his eventual death. There was no way he could win this fight—not now, and not here. He'd been out of the game for far too long. Zim was still fresh and calculating, his anger and purpose well-aimed towards a single, predetermined goal. But Dib was running strictly on emotion...that _weak _human fallback that would have insulted him to stoop to if it hadn't felt so good.

Zim had angered him, _pushed_ him, made him so blind with hate and frustration from events in the past he'd almost succeeded in making it seem as if there was only one way out. But it wasn't true. Maybe _Zim_ had no other option—maybe starting this final battle with death as the stakes was _his_ only way to exit gracefully from this world...but Dib had another choice he could make.

And Dib wanted to live.

--------------------

So far Zim's entire opinion of the human race had been derived from watching them as they were complacent, idol. He saw them walk from home to school and back again every day and assumed they were simple. He noticed the lack of weaponry they carried and assumed they were weak. He heard them argue politics while sitting at home in front of their television sets and assumed they were stupid. He had yet to see them as animals, as creatures endowed with the unique gift to lie and cheat and plot to bend the surrounding reality to their will. Over the course of the years spent living amidst the humans Zim had gotten a few small tastes, and bitter tastes they were. But normal human society had become so structured that primal survival skills were not used on a daily basis, or at least not in a manner obvious enough for Zim to recognize.

His people were conquerors. Zim understood combat and victory and massive interspacial battles that all took place on a scale too grand for the mind to grasp. He didn't understand mankind's subtle version of warfare—blackmail, psychological repression, indirect control—power gained not in one fell swoop, but merely one human being at a time.

He had yet to corner a human for the sole purpose of harming it or killing it and watch it fight for its life. He had yet to witness the inherent deviousness of Man; the race's ability to walk completely around a problem just by making a quick sacrifice of morals or logic. He didn't understand that, to human beings, there were no "rules of war" save for one: the last one alive wins. And he had yet to understand the depths a human would traverse to survive under that rule.

He was about to find out.

--------------------

The next thrust was aimed directly for Dib's heart. Had it been thrown at the beginning, when a confused and disoriented college student had stumbled blindly into the rear passenger door of his car, it would have succeeded in its fatal purpose. But Dib had lived a lifetime in the hours since then, and he dodged the powerful blow with all the agility of a twelve-year-old boy who knew the green kid down the street better than anyone else.

He ducked into a roll, passing neatly beneath the stabbing leg that ended up stabbing nothing but air. There was a gasp over his head as Zim saw where he was aiming—towards the fleshy, vulnerable alien body in the center of all that unfeeling metal—but the spider leg Zim pulled diagonally across his chest to serve as protection covered the wrong spot. Dib smashed his elbow hard into the side of Zim's torso and flung himself sideways to get out of range. The Irken lashed out in a retributive fury. He kicked at Dib first with his own foot, then followed with a much more powerful jab from one of his Pak legs to hurl him across the floor.

Dib flattened himself on his stomach and stole a glance over his shoulder to see Zim galloping towards him, mechanical legs working at a furious pace. He dug his toes in hard to get quickly to his feet but Zim leapt off the ground in a show of terrific strength and devoured the distance separating them in a single, impossible leap. A vicious hand on Dib's collar stopped his escape before it started and he was flipped onto his back, a metal column already rising to deliver a fatal blow. Struggling against Zim's hold, he coiled up one of his legs and slammed his boot hard into the closest spider leg he could reach.

The delicate tip at the end of the appendage scraped hopelessly against the floor as it lost the balance it needed to keep Zim standing up. With a defeated howl and a fleshy _thunk _the Irken crashed to the ground, face-first, giving Dib enough time to get to his feet. Claws grabbed at his shoes, trying to trip him, but he kicked up his heels and scrambled away.

There weren't many places Dib had to go, and he wasn't free for long before Zim caught up. The Irken lunged viciously with a downward horizontal slice, first with his left spider leg, then with his right. The first sunk into the ground directly behind Dib's heels, but it allowed Zim enough leverage to launch himself forward and land a good hit on the hip with the second of his two tries.

Dib cried out and stumbled on an awkward tangent to his original path, slamming his injured shoulder hard into one of the computers lining the curved walls of the room. Quickly he shot around the thick side of the machine to examine the space it made with the wall...but it was too narrow for him to fit through.

An evil chuckle made him spin on his heels.

Zim was already moving around the side, his mechanical legs stabbing into the corner of the computer like a grotesque arachnid looking for purchase. With a smooth extension of the purple ball-joints on his legs, one stretched outward to span the distance between him and the wall while the other held its position between him and the computer. Dib soon found himself trapped in a corner with a long diagonal gate of machine, Irken, and machine to box him in.

Zim wasn't wasting any effort on the verbal theatrics this time around. With his Pak legs occupied—two keeping him standing and the other two bracing the walls—he bent the joints inward without moving the tips to do the final job himself.

Given nowhere else to turn Dib began looking for inspiration in the only place he had left: his clothes. He patted himself down in a panic looking for something, _anything _to buy him time.

Nothing in the front. He reached his hands around, felt the back of his trench coat, slid down to his jeans...and found a lump in his back left pocket.

His hand came into view clutching a small, black oval fashioned into a dull point at one end—the sheathe from his knife.

Zim snorted at the object. Dib pressed himself harder into the computer. The case turned over and over in his palm as he thought at full speed, trying to decide what to do.

He could see in Zim's eyes that the Irken knew he'd won. Zim was just gearing up for that _laugh, _just imagining the feel once again of his enemy's life draining inch by inch from between his fingers when, suddenly, Dib parted his feet, reached back an arm...

...and flung the leather sheathe directly at his head.

It was a move that only a human, in all its simple, desperate will to live, would even think of resorting to. And as far as saving Dib's life went, it worked like a charm.

Zim's reflexes were quick but he was standing too close, and he let out a yelp mixed with surprise and anger as he was struck solidly between the eyes. He sacrificed the spider leg holding position on his right to drive forward into the last spot he knew Dib to be standing, but it was a blind throw at best.

Dib contorted his waist sideways as a last-ditch effort to sustain minimal damage and felt an insistent pressure at his side. For a brief second he thought he'd been stabbed until he realized it was only his clothes pulling at him. Zim's leg had shot past and embedded itself into the computer instead, ripping a hole in the back of Dib's trench coat which now rooted him to the spot.

Acting quickly, Dib spun on his toes to whip the coat off his arms and, in a single motion, snapped it open in an arc to settle decisively over Zim's head.

The Irken shrieked in a rage as he wrestled with the fabric, not realizing he couldn't pull it off towards his left because it was hooked on his Pak leg on the right. Holding it taught, he slashed upward through the middle with his claws to rip it in two. Once free he jerked his head up with a snarl to extract some retribution...but Dib was gone.

Zim stepped backwards and pivoted in a circle, passing searching, slitted eyes around the room.

Nothing.

"Hide and seek, is it?" he breathed, slamming the shredded trench coat down with a violent _snap._

He leapt forward with a war cry on top of the computer to glare down into the space it made with the wall. Nothing. He shuffled right and checked again. Nothing.

Zim began to move faster, searching for his enemy at a furious pace as he followed the curvature of the wall towards the back of the chamber.

When he hit a point almost opposite the door on the other side of the room he finally heard a noise. His antenna rocketed to a standing position on his head as he whirled in a blur to pinpoint its location. There, sprinting madly towards the door from some undeterminable point along the wall, was a bleeding, determined Dib.

"Cowardice...!"

The word eked from Zim as if it were the foulest curse to ever pass across his segmented tongue. He stood for a moment as he waited for his insult to carry...to make his fleeing enemy spin on his heels and leap back into the fray...

But Dib never stopped. Arms pumping, feet pounding, he shot across the room to make it to the doorway...and disappeared around the corner into the hallway beyond.

--------------------

"HOW **DARE **YOU, HUMAN! COME BACK AND FIGHT ME!"

The words echoed through the hallway with such a booming intensity Dib swore he could feel the ground shaking beneath his feet. He knew Zim would be upset. After all, this was the only thing the abandoned little Irken had to live for. He couldn't go back to his job or his precious Tallests after this no matter how much he tried to deny it. And maybe...maybe somewhere in his green head Zim knew he couldn't. He knew his only chance for a graceful exit from this world was in the eyes, and possibly at the hands, of the only person who had ever seen him in the same light he'd seen himself. But Dib could have cared less about his enemy's shattered, pathetic life. Zim could crown himself the winner of this childish pissing match for all it mattered. This battle was over. He wasn't going to die here.

He was going to live.

The hallway before him was narrow and cold and seemed to stretch forever in an endless maze of side-alleys and crossing paths with no windows and no doors. Dib ran for all he was worth, taking as many turns and twists as he could to keep Zim off his trail. He didn't dare look behind him for fear of losing his nerve. Instead, he concentrated solely on moving his feet and tried to flesh out a map in his mind of where he'd been.

Up ahead a large junction sprawled outward in a star formation to accommodate the six hallways intersecting together at its center. Dib turned hard on his toes to take a sharp right and suddenly felt his boots lose traction with the ground. He fell hard to the side on his hip, his hands slamming into the floor to keep himself at least partially upright. When he raised his palms he was puzzled to find them covered in a gooey, sticky substance. He paled when he realized it was blood—not fresh, but not completely dried, either. Fearing at once it was his own he reached under his jacket to check the wound at his shoulder. The layers of clothing, however, were keeping his injury well-sealed. The puddle on the floor wasn't his.

Glancing up, he soon discovered the blood wasn't an isolated pool but an entire trail. As good a marker to prevent backtracking as any, he leapt to his feet and began to move along the wandering path it made throughout the corridors.

The trail continued for several hundred feet where it led into a different section of halls. The walls changed color from a deep magenta to a metallic gray and the ever-present charge of electricity in the air grew stronger with each step. Gradually, Dib thought he could feel vibrations passing up from the floor through his boots while a thrumming echo hinted at some large mechanical process taking place nearby. A glance upward revealed a thick collection of pipes following along the ceiling not dissimilar to those found in basements or utility rooms. It almost felt as if he were wandering through a network of service tunnels.

A segment of previously forgotten conversation slithered into his mind as he fought to keep his wits. Zim had said this was a vessel of some sort...a Shuvver. Was it possible this was the bottom level of the ship?

He turned left around a corner and came to a stop. Before him at the end of a long segment of hallway sat a spacious room dominated by neon blue lights that flickered like fire along the walls. The feel of electricity was sharper in the air, and an almost undetectable hissing hovered in his ears—white noise flittering in the background. He moved towards the entrance with cautious steps, still following the blood that led unerringly forward. The thought of an unexplored area filled him with hope but at the same time Dib was careful to remain guarded; he was beginning to remember all the dangers that came with sneaking around inside one of Zim's toys.

Breath in his throat he reached the end of the hallway, drawing to a stop just outside the door, and ventured a look inside.

His jaw nearly fell to the floor. Rectangular in shape, the room before him was nearly three times bigger than the one that held his car, and contained rows upon rows of towering blue columns that hissed and spit as angry lightning bolts licked across their surfaces. A wall of glass traveling the length of each pillar protected occupants from the energy contained inside, but only so far as electrocution was concerned. Every hair on Dib's body stood on end at the immense charge in the air which was harmless, but uncomfortable.

He glanced down. The blood led forward where it circled the base of the closest column before continuing onward. Reasoning it led through to another exit, he continued to follow it until a light sound trilling over the angry crackle of electricity made him draw to a stop.

He shrunk against the nearest column and strained his ears to catch it again. It floated in and out of detection with a variance of high and low pitches that traveled sporadically over the electric noise in the air. It was...singing. Absurd, yes, but he was sure of it. He was just contemplating the wisdom of continuing further when a small piece of metal skittered across the floor in front of him, almost as if it kicked.

"Oops!" a childish voice was quick to call out. "I'LL GET IT!" And before he could move Zim's robot went skipping by.

Dib froze.

"Whossat?"

The machine stopped and stood erect, its eyes flaring a threatening red as it focused on him with a blank, open-eyed stare. Blood covered GIR from head to toe—the gelatinous rivulets half-frozen in jagged lines down the length of its body. It fixed him with a grin, the goopy mess dripping down into its mouth as it did so, and held out its arms for a hug.

"Big head boy to the tea party! I saved ya a seat!"

It pranced forward and tried to grab for his arm, but Dib shied away in horror, forcing the machine to latch onto his jeans instead. Using its monumental strength it dragged him out into the open and gestured with a proud hand to an empty space of floor nearby.

A makeshift table sat in the center which had been constructed from pieces of paneling ripped off the computer equipment lining the walls. Shrapnel and different lengths of wire littered its surface either to serve as silverware or confetti, Dib wasn't sure which. Three "chairs" nearby rested on the floor alongside the table. One was an empty box. The other was a mangled ball of wires. And the third, an Irken-sized captain's chair, was occupied.

Dib's gaze drifted to the seat. There, propped awkwardly upright in a mockery of life, was Keef's dead body—its open, clouded eyes watching GIR in empty attention. The robot had tried its best to maneuver the stiffened corpse into a suitable sitting position, but had only managed to lean it back against the chair where it balanced slightly on his side. It legs had been broken neatly at the femur so they could be folded out of the way under the short seat. The corpse had been hugged and poked, prodded and teased, licked, kissed, and cuddled against in the same childish fascination the robot had held for Keef alive only a few hours ago. As a result, there was blood everywhere—from the circular footprints on the floor to the carrot-shaped handprints on the table and on Keef from GIR's loving little claws.

The sight was more than Dib could take. Holding his stomach, he turned quickly and threw up on his own shoes.

"Ooo!" the robot cried, leaping forward in an attempt to look into his mouth, "Dessert! Do it again!"

But before the wrestling match between them could begin they were interrupted by an angry voice echoing down the hallway behind them.

"_There _you are!"

And at that point, all Dib could do was tuck GIR under his arm and run.

--------------------

He sprinted deeper inside the room, the scrabbling echoes emanating from the hall pushing him past his endurance point. Behind him Zim shrieked a stream of threats over the crackles and hisses in the air but only half were distinguishable, so consuming was the Irken's rage. Dib tightened his grip on GIR for lack of anything else to find comfort in and began to weave amidst the columns. He didn't have to worry about his pounding footsteps giving him away. The ambient noise in the room was too loud. And, with all the screaming he was doing, Zim wouldn't have been able to hear him, anyway.

"I expected more from you, Dib!" the Irken suddenly shouted through the gibberish. "You think you can hide from me? In my own _ship? _Computer! Seize the human!"

Dib skid to a halt. Terrified, he glanced to the ceiling where a nest of tentacles sat resting overhead, waiting only for the command to stir to life. Remembering his frequent battles with similar machinery in Zim's base back on Earth he braced himself for a struggle...

...but nothing happened.

"Computer! That was an order!"

"Aww" GIR moaned from under his arm. "I miss the computer."

Dib glanced at it. "You mean it's not going to answer?"

"Master's the computer now. But he's not as good at it. He makes bad pie."

"Zim's the computer?"

_Why?_ was Dib's first thought. He glanced to the electrified columns surrounding him, to the unresponsive tentacles above. "All Irken ships come with an integrated AI system, don't they? Why doesn't Zim just let it—"

_Get your filthy alien meat out of the cockpit!_

He glanced down at the robot. "It's because he can't control it, isn't it GIR?"

The machine's only response was to begin sucking on its hands, but Dib didn't need its confirmation to know he was right. In the process of wiping Zim from existence the Tallests had, most likely, nullified his ability to use any Irken technology. Without a signature to identify him as an ally, the sentient programming the Irkens liked to rely on would treat him as an enemy. The only way he could have gotten access to a ship like this after the fact was if it was stolen...and if this ship was stolen then the only way Zim could have piloted it was by hand. But this vessel was much larger and much more complex than Tak's ship. There was no way Zim could regulate everything needed to make it run, especially without the aid of his Pak. Unable to strain the functions out as before, he would have been forced to simply turn them off—all of them—including the defense systems, and the insubordinate AI interface. This room must have been vital to some part of the ship in order for it to still be operational.

Dib refocused on GIR. The robot was staring at a point far away, as if it were seeing through the columns that stood between it and its Master. For the first time it seemed slightly subdued, and Dib couldn't help a tinge of pity as he watched it and listened to Zim's desperate shouts slicing through the air.

"**COMPUTER! ANSWER ME!"**

In the end, it was just another deaf ear.

A jarring eruption sent Dib to the ground and a blast of heat thundered across his body as it traveled in a wave towards the other end of the chamber. There was rattling shriek and a second explosion before a three-foot segment of metal paneling went sailing past him into an electrified column only a few feet away. Glass few everywhere as sparks began to surge towards the metal like snakes racing to feed. Using the projecting surface to push away from the contained energy column, the electricity was free to stretch out into space. Thankfully the floor had been insulated from carrying a charge, but the same wasn't true for the other columns nearby. It was only a matter of seconds before lightning began to leap from column to column across the room.

The heat in the air increased exponentially, goading Dib once again into running for his life. Behind him he could hear Zim screeching curses to the ceiling in a mixture of English and Irken as he destroyed everything in his path. He was ripping the place apart!

Walls and flashes of light met Dib wherever he turned. It was an effort not to sink into a panic. By this point, he was too disoriented to find the hallway he'd entered from, much less conduct a methodical search for another exit. Around him electricity crackled and sparked as it threatened to cook him where he stood, but if he was going to die, he was going to die running.

His persistence paid off. As he was dashing along the wall at the back of the room, a dark patch of metal suddenly caught his attention and he jerked to a stop. There, nestled between the bulk of two large computers, was what looked to be a safety door. He leapt towards it with his heart in his throat, needing to touch it to make sure it was real.

It was.

The symbols scrawled across it were impossible to read, and the circular window set in the center towards the top was too cracked to see through. But the metal handle beneath his hand and the airlock padding around the edges were universal enough. It had to lead outside.

It was only when his hand fell on the top of the lever, ready to push down, that Dib realized he was taking the position of the ship for granted. What evidence did he have it was on the ground? Or even on Earth? He could open the door and be sucked into space or crushed beneath the weight of a foreign planet's gravity.

A column ruptured behind him, causing trajectories of metal and glass to embed themselves in the walls forty feet overhead. The air was hot enough to be almost unbreathable; the electricity was surging into the walls. If he stayed any longer it wouldn't matter. Judging from the tremors ravaging the floor the destruction was quickly becoming more than the ship could handle. And above it all, though feint in the background, Zim showed no sign of stopping as he shrieked to the only person left to listen—himself.

Taking a deep breath, Dib slammed down on the handle and pushed open the door. A wave of air immediately rushed to suck him outside, but it wasn't strong enough to overpower him. Gripping the edge of the doorway he leaned outward to take stock of his situation.

At first he thought he was staring into the obsidian soul of space, so shocked were his eyes from emerging out of the light. But the air moving through his lungs was breathable, and far below he was able to make out hundreds of small shadows rubbing against one another like anemones in the ocean.

It was corn stirring in the wind. Dib was looking down upon the field he'd begun this nightmare in, but from several hundred feet above the ground.

The sight was a relief and a disappointment at the same time. It was good he was still on Earth and that the ship, for all he could tell, wasn't moving...but there was no way to get down. The door he'd found led out into open air with no platform or escape pod or any conceivable method of reaching the ground.

He turned back towards the room. The chaos behind him had grown to a terrifying pitch. He couldn't run through it again. He looked left, then right, hoping for another door. There were none, or at least none he could see. Should he take the sure road? Or gamble there was another safety hatch and continue running along the wall?

His eyes fell to the ground outside. It was a long way down.

A sudden crash from behind made Dib's stomach lurch, and he turned to see Zim crawling towards him over the destroyed machinery quickly piling on the floor. Blue electricity flashed in the reflective surface of the Irken's wet, alien eyes. Held over his head with the aid of his Pak legs was a broken panel of glass easily ten feet across. He reached back to throw it but lost his balance for a brief second.

Dib made his decision.

"Do you know what pain is, GIR?" he shouted to the robot as he held it out the door to survey the long drop below. "Because we're both going to be in a lot of it if you don't do something!"

And with no further warning he threw himself off the ledge into thin air.

GIR let loose a bloodcurdling scream as its circular blue eyes widened to encompass the sight of the ground rushing up to meet them. Dib twisted to get a view of the door he'd leapt through, looking for Zim, but before he could focus there was a thunderous _BOOM _and his fingers suddenly felt as if they were on fire. The robot had activated a rocket protruding from its body cavity in an attempt to stop their fall. At first Dib thought his hands had been caught in the burn off, but it seemed the device ran only on air. It was simply heated from passing through the droid. The counterforce was enough to lessen their speed as they fell, but unfortunately GIR had been designed to carry the weight of an Irken, not that of a fully grown human. The ground was still racing up to meet them.

Dib glanced at the ship overhead fading away into the distance to keep his eyes off his death. It was hovering at rest in the sky, shimmering as a giant white blob against the darkness of night. A wispy aura of wind seemed to stir around the vessel that bent and twisted its outline into indiscernible shapes. It wasn't until he was a few hundred feet beneath it he realized it had been cloaked to resemble a giant, painfully-white cloud. Apparently the Irkens had no concept of night when designing their vessels' cloaking options.

On the exterior the ship seemed at peace. By squinting Dib could make out the sharp points and gentle slopes that were the epitome of Irken design. They towered above him like mountains suspended into thin air. As he looked, however, he began to make out flashes of light playing across their surfaces. The mountains grew larger as the ship started to list in his direction.

The explosion came without warning. It was small and unimpressive, offering none of the usual theatrics accompanied by the fire-and-brimstone scenarios Dib was used to seeing in the movies. There was a sharp _bang _followed by the groan of metal, a brief flash of light, but beyond that there was nothing to announce the sudden appearance of car-size projectiles whizzing through the air around him.

He was struck within moments. A sheet of metal the size of a refrigerator whistled deftly overhead as it twisted in midair and caught both Dib and GIR on the sides of their bodies. The pair became a tangled web of appendages and screams as they plummeted to the earth like a stone. By that time the Shuvver had listed completely on its side. GIR was busy trying to reactivate its rocket in a panic, but were it not for the second explosion both it and Dib would have met a messy end on the ground.

The second rupture was larger than the first, and encompassed more power than the one previous. The entire night sky lit up in a second of time as a rocketing thunderbolt raced through an engine working to keep the ship hovering. The apparatus exploded in a ball of fire as the fuel caught ablaze and showered the ground below. The resulting shockwave blew Dib backwards in the air and sent him crashing into the roof of a barn that gave way moments later when a blazing propeller blade was hurled into it. He fell for a few feet and finally came to a rest.

He had just enough time to curl in upon himself before the roof collapsed and he was lost to the world.

--------------------

He awoke to an insistent scratching sound coming from somewhere on his right. Thinking instantly of a set of spider legs scurrying to end his life, he snapped awake and struggled to start running, but was trapped firmly beneath a large wooden beam. Pain raced up his right shoulder, his legs, the left side of his face. He twisted his head, fully expecting to see Zim standing over him, but was only met with a mouse trying to extricate itself from the rubble that had smashed its nest. It was a relief...and it was one relief too many.

Slumping against the ground, Dib curled into a ball at the heart of the destruction and emptied himself into his tears.

* * *

Whew! Intense! But we're not done. Not yet. 

I finished two chapters of Undead Hearts (another story of mine) in a row to make a post on Halloween; so, to be fair, you guys will get Restitution 8 before they get Undead Hearts 4. And to make up for the longer wait for this chapter I'm going to try and make it snappy with the release.

I'd love to hear feedback on this especially because I had some real problems getting it done. So go ahead and fire off anything you have on your mind. The extras features will be posted on my Livejournal in a couple of days. Hope you liked it!


	8. Recognize

Hey, hey, hey! Lookie what I have! I won't do the schpiel about why this is late...you've heard it already. I will say, however, that we're going to have one more chapter than originally planned.

Since the last time we met I've been busy writing out this _monstrous_ series of plot events squished into a single chapter...and yesterday I had an epiphany that went something like: _This is way too damn much! _So now Restitution is scheduled for ten chapters, not nine, and a good three-quarters of nine is already written. Yay! Also in exciting news...

**RESTITUTION HAS FANART!**  
The extremely talented Victoria Hughes (aka: phoenixstarr44 on deviantART) has drawn the first piece of fanart I have _ever_ received as an author and it is just...man...it is _outstanding!_ The scene is from chapter 4 (I think we'll all recognize it) and the _expression_ on Dib's face!!! Words escape me; that's how accurate it is. I can't thank Victoria enough for her gift, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather receive my first piece of fanart from. Thank you very, very much. It's beautiful and everyone should head over here (www . deviantart . com/ deviation/ 42666602/) and check it out, then commense with the drooling. I'm debating making it a permanent link on my ffnet homepage but for now it's saved in my livejournal under the "fanart" tag.

Aside from that all that's left to say is that these characters aren't mine, I do this for fun not profit, and that I hope you enjoy! As always, don't be afraid of dropping me a review—you know I love to hear what all of you are thinkin'!

Last sentence of Chapter 7: "Slumping against the ground, Dib curled into a ball at the heart of the destruction and emptied himself into his tears."

* * *

Chapter 8

It was nearly an hour before Dib was able to pull himself back together. He uncurled from the fetal position as he craned his neck to the side, lifting it up from the puddle his tears had formed on the wooden floorboards beneath his head. Above him the night sky swallowed the enormous hole smashed into the roof of the barn he'd fallen into. The wooden beam that once held it up now lay across his body, pinning his legs to the ground. He shifted to test its weight as well as his own mobility and, with a small amount of effort and the assistance of his good arm, managed to push it aside and collapse onto his back.

He blinked slowly, the stars fading into darkness and reappearing again. Long shadows stretched, claw-like, between the white bursts of celestial color against the backdrop of night. Dib could only guess they were clouds since he'd lost his glasses sometime during the fall. But the more he stared at them, the more he began to notice they hung far too low in the sky.

He sat up on his arm as the acrid smell of smoke began to penetrate his consciousness. His neck craned backwards in the direction of the wisps until he was forced to roll onto his stomach to keep them in sight. A dozen feet before him the barn doors hung open, broken on their hinges, giving way to several layers of darkness composed of smoke, shadows, and night alike. Dib smelled fire—the earthy aroma of burning plants tinged with a hint of diesel fuel—but saw no flames. Carefully he got to his knees and then tried to stand; an immediate pain ripped up his side. He grit his teeth to further brace himself and stood in one forced motion. The moment he straightened he staggered to the left before catching the wall with his good arm. Moving slowly, he picked his way over the debris to get outside.

He drew to a stop as he laid eyes upon an angry fire tearing at the sky with orange and red arms several miles to the west. Encased within the flames was the gentle sloping outline of the Shuvver's hull rising like a hill from within the chaos. Some thirty feet away, silhouetted against the light, the massive metal blades of one of the ship's propellers towered overhead half-sunken into the dirt. The heat radiating off the warped metal was noticeable even from a distance. Dib glanced behind him at the remains of the shattered wooden barn and counted himself lucky nothing had caught fire on top of him.

He was careful to avoid any thoughts of 'other' survivors.

He scowled at the pieces of wood and hay strewn about the grass. The blaze would only spread. He should call the police and wait for them to arrive...except there would be questions about the fire and then about him, none of which he wanted to answer. If, however, he ran...

His eyes drew upward glinting fervently at the thought.

No one would know. He was alone; his car was almost certainly destroyed and the VIN number and license plate along with it. Keef was dead...the police could work backwards...but who could name 'Dib' as the last one to see him alive? Everyone at the party was too drunk to remember anything.

He glanced back to the flames. There must have been a plane crash. He was sure he could no longer see the hull of anything shadowed in the fire. He'd been driving alone to clear his head before finals...he'd lost his way...he'd run off the road by accident and stumbled upon a crash...

It was a simple explanation. In fact...wasn't that what happened? He'd injured his shoulder looking for the pilot—careless, really. He'd mistaken the barn for a house and sought help there. His clothes? A dark green t-shirt with khaki shorts, both completely blood-free. Yes, he could produce them.

Dib began making his way around the outside of the barn using the wall as a brace. On the side a large pile of wood lay in his path consisting of debris that had rolled off the roof. He was forced to push away and walk on his own in order to move around it. As he took his first few shaky steps outward he saw the back side of the barn faced a dusty road stretching between two fields of corn, probably a marker to set off the harvests. A set of yellow headlights was fast approaching from between them.

He dove back behind the pile of debris so fast he nearly twisted his ankle in the process. He fell to the ground in an ungainly heap and flattened himself on his stomach despite the pain it sent shooting through his shoulder. He could only hope the wood pile was high enough to hide both his body and long legs from view.

The telltale growl of a diesel engine grew louder as the vehicle drew closer. It sounded like a truck—an old pickup most likely. The grind of the engine soon slowed to an idle and the sound of tires sliding across dirt and gravel became more prominent. The headlights shot a clear beam over Dib's head mere moments before he heard the vehicle come to an abrupt stop. The engine cut off. Two doors opened, leading to the sound of two pairs of footsteps falling on the ground. Neither door was closed.

"Holy shit!" a man with a slight southern accent shouted in awe. "Looks like a damn bonfire!"

"Well, maybe we'll get popcorn outta it" a second man answered.

There was the sound of running. "This ain't a joke, Clint! That probably takes up half the field!" A rusty hinge protested loudly from the back of the barn as it was opened with obvious force. Dib hadn't noticed any doors on that side. The voices became muffled as the second man followed the first in.

Dib shifted off of his injured shoulder while he had the luxury, but as he tilted onto his side a flash of light from deep within the debris pile caught his attention. He focused on the object and uttered a cry as he processed Zim's robot staring at him through the slashing layers made by the broken pieces of aligned wood and hay. It was contorted on its stomach at an odd angle, its head twisted completely around on its shoulders to face him. Though its left eye was dulled into a pool of bottomless gray the right was flickering on and off an angry color of red. With it Dib was able to clearly discern the rivers of dried blood still caked to the machine's chassis. A sick, coppery smell awakened in his memory. He felt his stomach heave.

"Did you hear something?"

Even when muffled the words from the barn were unmistakable. Dib started to panic. If GIR were to reactivate there was no telling what it would do...and it had a big mouth. Dib shoved his left hand deep into the pile and gripped strong fingers around what felt like the robot's head. Though he doubted it would do anything to keep the excitable robot quiet it made him feel better, like he was in control.

_Now what?_

The voices within the barn were growing to a pitch. The men inside were arguing. Dib's heart began to pound against his chest as he poured through the consequences of being discovered. Suddenly his memory seemed much more real, his story much less believable. His eyes drew up to survey the vehicle the two men had arrived in. It was an old two-door Ford pickup painted a rusty blue; both doors were still open. Could the keys be in it? Had he heard them jingle as they were pulled from the ignition? He glanced down his arm holding GIR at the ready and decided to chance it.

In one burst of motion that took far more effort than it should have Dib yanked the robot free and launched himself to his feet with the assistance of his injured arm. His left knee buckled as he threw his entire weight onto it, making him stagger for several steps before regaining his momentum. As he cleared the back of the building he noticed the barn doors were almost closed. It would buy him a few seconds, at least.

He leapt into the driver's seat and threw GIR to the side as he moved to close the doors. He didn't bother being quiet; there was little point now. He reached for the ignition but only felt the metal slot where the keys should have been.

"Dammit!"

He slammed his fists against the wheel without thinking; pain rocketed up his right arm. He glanced over his shoulder and quickly averted his face when he saw the barn door was already open. As he glanced to the floor he noticed a small keychain holding three brass keys. He scooped them up on impulse and jammed the first one into the ignition. It slid into the socket but didn't turn.

"Hey!"

Dib jumped and looked to the window without thinking. A man wearing a broad cowboy hat was looking in, his features barely distinguishable in the dark. His fist slammed against the glass.

"Get the hell out of there!"

Dib pounded the door lock down into its socket and tried another key. It slid and turned; the engine roared to life. He grit his teeth, shifted the vehicle into drive with his right hand, and floored the gas petal. The rear wheels spun without traction just long enough to make the man at the window back away before the truck lurched into motion. Dib turned left to avoid the cornfield but overcompensated and angled the nose of the vehicle directly towards the barn. As he tried to correct using his right hand a stab of pain caused him to release the wheel with a gasp. His left hand snapped up to steer just in time to avoid a collision, but not soon enough to prevent the truck from sideswiping the building. The mirror on his door snapped off from its mount.

He leveled the truck out into a straight path and eased up on the gas. With the aid of the rearview he could see two shadows standing confused in the middle of the road behind him. Dib tried to return his right hand to the steering but something about curling his fingers agitated his shoulder so he let his arm drape across his lap.

He glanced to the dashboard for an idea of the time. The entire console had been stripped clean of electronics, leaving only empty sockets in their stead. After a few minutes of driving he came to a poorly-paved asphalt road and turned left. It was too difficult to turn right.

His heart gradually ceased to rage against his ribs but his mind continued to whirl in an uncontainable fury. He'd graduated from victim to car thief in less than five minutes and only an arm's reach away sat the one object preventing him from denying everything that had happened. He glanced over at GIR and suddenly felt his hand shaking on the wheel. His body quickly degenerated into a wave of cold tremors. A sound reached his ears—a strange humming in the night. His eyes shot to the rearview mirror.

A set of purple headlights was already following him from behind! GIR must have been transmitting some kind of signal!

Dib's first instinct was to speed up but he had to ditch the robot. He braced himself and took the wheel with his right hand as he cranked the window open with his left. He stopped it halfway down—the robot would still fit through. He grabbed it by the arm but the purple lights were already too close, so close he could barely see. The world was whiting out. GIR crashed against the windshield as Dib slammed on the brakes to force a collision and readied himself for a hasty escape in the aftermath.

The truck rolled to a stop without incident.

He opened his eyes. A shaft of moonlight was cast over the hood of his vehicle. Beyond that there was only darkness—nothing but darkness.

He whirled in his seat. The road behind him was empty. He fumbled with the door and kicked it open, staggering outside on shaky legs, but there was nothing in the distance...nothing near the car...nothing to see.

He put a hand to his forehead. He'd imagined it all. His palm was shaking; his skin was ice cold. Had he imagined GIR, too?

A glance into the truck told him no. The robot was real...and he suddenly _hated _the thing for it. He grabbed it by the neck but it was only a machine. It didn't struggle or cry or beg to be spared. He threw it upon the ground but it merely slumped onto its side and stared into the distance. There was no pleasure to be had from causing it pain. GIR's stubborn state of indestructibility, however, was partially responsible for saving Dib's sense. In the wake of his frustration he was relieved of his fear. His legs ceased to shake, his heart rate began to slow, and he gradually came to realize none of this was going to help.

He took a deep breath.

_Zim is dead._

It was the first fundamental truth he had to accept before he could move on, but despite all he'd seen the words sounded shaky and doubtful. Dib could _feel_ he didn't believe them. He repeated the phrase over again.

_Zim is dead._

Nothing.

Why was this so hard?

_Because once upon a time Zim was your life. Zim is dead equals Dib is dead._

Dib's stomach twisted at the direction of the logic. Was he admitting, then, that Zim had been telling the truth? That everything he now knew had happened just as Zim had revealed it? If that was true and Zim had been honest about one thing...was it possible he was honest about all the others?

_Dib was an embarrassment that needed to be dealt with. Ergo, Dib was destroyed._

Dib ran a hand through his hair. Zim still could have made that up. The Irken had been off balance—crazy with hate and rage. As collected as he'd seemed at times there was no doubt in Dib's mind he still would have said anything, and done anything, to inflict as much damage as possible. If there was one thing Zim had made crystal clear above all others it was that _nothing _would ever pull him away from the Fight. Not even death. Even now Dib stood robbed of any sanctuary left to run to. His past was irrevocably tainted, his identity shattered within his own mind, and the only person he had to ask for help was placed in the center of it all.

His father.

_What did he do to me?_

Zim could no longer tell him. If Dib wanted to know...he'd have to track down the answer himself.

A phone. He needed a phone.

His hand dove instinctively into his right jeans' pocket where he was surprised to feel a lump resting deep in the bottom. Of course...Keef's cell phone...he'd replaced it there at the start of this hellish ordeal. Dib dared to hope that, given everything he'd been through, it was possible the device still worked, that it hadn't been cracked or destroyed. Now that he was back in control he had to believe the world was right and just and functioning the way it should.

His hand emerged from the denim clutching a tangled mess of circuitry and plastic in his palm—the remnant shards of a just, functioning world.

"Oh come on!"

He threw the pieces to the ground where they hit the pavement with a lackluster series of _clicks_ before scattering in every direction. Dib stormed towards the truck. With that option gone he was at least two hours away from making any phone call, as asking for help from one of the locals was out of the question. He'd have to wait until he found a payphone in town.

As he slid into the driver's seat he turned his body sideways to shut the door but stopped when he saw GIR sprawled upon the pavement. He halted as a wayward thought came to mind.

Carefully, Dib slid out of the truck and walked over to the machine. He picked it up around the waist as one would a small dog. A gentle twist rotated its neck back into the correct position. He examined its head with his fingers as he checked for seams along every visible edge but found no cracks or holes. He turned it onto its back and investigated the body, looking for compartments that granted access to its insides. He found two, but one was crushed closed and the other revealed only a small panel of circuits. When he flipped the robot over to face him its head lolled back in his hands, causing its mouth to open. He made a face at the sight—the thing was grotesque—until he realized he was looking at a clear point of entry.

Scrunching his face in disgust Dib turned his head away and plunged his left hand deep into GIR's mouth.

The interior was surprisingly moist for a robot...and cluttered. Dib pulled out a half-eaten donut, a credit card to one "Jhonen Vasquez," a paintbrush, six rubber bands, a ball of lint, two metal washers, and a penny before his fingers finally brushed against something smooth and oval-shaped. Holding his breath, he closed his hand around it...and pulled his own cell phone back from the seemingly bottomless void that was GIR's stomach.

He stared at the device in breathless reverence for several seconds before moving to clear the screen of dried blood and slime. He flipped open the hinge and was greeted with the sobering sight of a fully-functional welcome screen, with two signal bars, no less!

The robot fell to the ground with a clutter as he stood. His finger fell automatically on the number 1—his father's speed dial digit—but it took a conscious channeling of will for Dib to actually push it. He held his breath and placed the phone to his ear.

One ring.

_He has to be there. He's always working..._

Two rings.

_There's no way he's asleep._

Three rings.

_Maybe he knows it's me. Maybe Zim got to him. Maybe he thinks I'm dead._

Four rings.

_Maybe—_

The line clicked. Dib's heart soared...

"GREETINGS! You have reached PROFESSOR MEMBRANE!"

...and promptly sunk. It was the office answering machine. As he listened to the familiar recording he contemplated whether or not to leave a message, but before he could decide there was a second _click _and a female voice came on the line.

_Now forwarding to remote location: four, four, one, eight, six, five, two, eight, two, five, seven, three. Please hold._

Dib held his breath. Another _click,_ then...

"Membrane."

"Dad!"

The voice that came out wasn't his. He could almost hear the confusion forming on the other end of the line.

"Who is this?"

He took a deep breath. "It's me, Dib."

"Ahh, son. I didn't recognize you—where are you?"

Was that suspicion he heard, or just an innocent question? Dib opened his mouth to answer...but balked at the last second. "At...school. There's a...project due first thing tomorrow. I had to stay late at the library."

"How wonderful! Books are good for—_You! Get away from that monkey!"_

Dib held the phone away from his ear as Membrane yelled at someone in the background. "Dad?"

"Sorry, son. Was there something you needed?"

"Uh, yeah—" he swallowed, "—I need to talk to you. In person. The answering machine said you were off site. When will you be back in town?"

"_That doesn't go there. You know that."_

"Dad!"

"What? Back in tow—oh tomorrow morning, I should think."

"What time?"

"Nine? No that won't work. I—_Not the green one, the red one!_"

"DAD!"

"Don't shout, Dib. That's how lung cancer starts."

"I don't care about lung cancer!"

"_Everyone _should care about lung cancer! I, myself, would be caring about lung cancer right now if my _interns _weren't currently in the process of _demonstrating their ineptitude!_ Do you mind if we talk tomorrow at the University office? Say nine o'clock?"

"What? But you just said—"

"Ten, then."

Dib sighed. "Fine. But please be there, Dad...don't let me down."

"Of course, I'll pencil it into my schedule right now. _Simmons! Meeting tomorrow!_ Now, if that's all, son, I am rather busy."

"Okay."

"I love you."

The only answer was a dead line.

Dib clicked the phone shut and checked the front display—3:37am. He had almost seven hours to kill before meeting with his father.

His eyes drew up into the distance as his fist closed tightly around the phone in his hand. He had no intention of entering this confrontation unprepared. He was going to find answers—as many as he could get, using whatever it took...and he had a good idea of where he should start.

He walked around to the back of the truck and kicked off the license plate with the heel of his boot.

He just hoped Gaz was smart enough to stay out of his way.

* * *

Permit me a moment to throw out a shameless plug? If any of you happen to like the Legend of Zelda I just put up a fanfic that's been on the working table for about, oh, three years. So, yeah, go check that out if you're still bored after reading this ;) 

I have seriously been on a writing _tear _these last few days. This is the second project I've finished in a week! As always, the extras for this chapter will be posted on my Livejournal in a couple of days. I hope you liked it and I'll see you for Chapter 9!


	9. Eraser

Oh ho, you thought I was dead. You thought I'd broken my promise and that Restitution had been allowed to die. Well! You--thought--wrong! Though I'm probably speaking to an entirely new generation of readers now since the wait was so long (my bad) hopefully it will draw some new faces into the story, as well as some faithful followers.

Apologies for the delay but this WILL be finished. Mark my words.

* * *

Chapter 9

The drive into the city couldn't have ended soon enough. It took Dib an hour and a half to stumble upon a road sign that lended any bearings, and even then he was farther north than he would have liked. As the minutes passed and the miles fell away he became more aware of the injury in his shoulder. Before it had hurt only during movement; now the pain was gaining a continuous edge, difficult to ignore. Logical-Dib knew he should find a hospital, but Determined-Dib had already made the decision to treat the injury himself.

His hands grew tighter upon the wheel the longer he drove, the sounds of the road beneath the truck's tires providing an ideal seething environment. By the time the battered vehicle rolled to a stop his thoughts had aged him a further three years.

The house looked the same. Motion sensors lining the front yard stirred to life with angry whirs as he stepped from the driver's seat, activating the electrified fence that protected the grass from the neighborhood dogs. _Home sweet home,_ he thought to himself as he started towards the front door. The steps up the walkway seemed so much smaller. How many years had it been since he'd walked this path? Four? Five?

He pressed his right arm, bent, against his side. A dusty suede jacket had been left slung over the passenger seat in the truck; he used it now to cover his injured shoulder and all the blood staining his shirt. No sense in making more question fodder than he had to.

Taking a deep breath, he stopped on the front porch and rang the doorbell. At first there was no answer from within. He rang again and knocked. Several seconds passed before he heard movement inside. A second, louder knock elicited an "I'm coming, goddammit!" He braced himself as he heard the deadbolt slide out of place. The door swung open.

Gaz looked different from the last time he'd seen her. Her hair was shorter and chopped off at the neck. Her naturally-purple locks had been tinted with streaks of black at the tips, highlighting the jagged points shooting from her head. Amber eyes opened wide when she registered who stood before her.

"Dib!" she spit, "What are you doing here?" She tried to slam the door but Dib's foot was already blocking the way. He pushed inside. Two strides of his long legs put him almost even with the kitchen. Gaz was quickly on his heels.

"Get. Out."

She never yelled. The only exclamations in her voice were made with darker changes of tone. Had she been a toaster, her current setting would have been on "black," but Dib refused to acknowledge her. The house wasn't very large; the basement door was just ahead. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

A sudden yank on his injured arm brought him to a halt. His reaction came more from pain than surprise. In a heartbeat he spun and slammed a hand into Gaz's chest, pulling her close as he got a handle on her clothes. He was taller than his sister by a good several inches, but by the time she snapped to a stop he was at eye level, stooping over her like a vulture.

"I am here to get into the lab," he snarled, "and I will be in this house for as long as it takes." His voice resonated low in his chest, making it sound more like a growl than words. He spun on his heel, dragging Gaz with him. A rough push sent her stumbling backwards into a stuffed chair. "So sit there, shut up, and stay out of my way."

With that he turned and continued, unhindered, on his way to the basement.

--

The laboratory door sealed behind him like a cocoon, encasing him in the cool, sterile environment where only logic could thrive. He took a moment to make sure it locked behind him before continuing farther down the stairs into his father's basement work area.

To call it a "laboratory" would have been an exaggeration. Though several inventions sat littered around the room, the majority of the work conducted in the Membrane household was purely for hobby. It was "self-satisfying" science as Dib's father was known for putting it.

Most of the basement was devoted to tables upon which the Professor kept the majority of his failed, incomplete, or not-yet-realized ideas. It was here Dib had first gotten started helping his father. His impressive computer skills made him ideal for performing calculations, data recordings, and, on occasion, note taking. In some senses he'd started his scientific career as a glorified secretary. The term in the industry was "lab assistant." As such, Dib knew his father's computer systems inside and out.

His first stop was a small bathroom located in the far corner of the basement where a small mirror over an equally small sink allowed him to get a real look at the damage Zim had done. When the clothes first came off he could only stare. Blood and pieces of skin had congealed somewhat around the injury in his shoulder, but a noticeable hole still existed just beneath his collarbone. Inside was nothing but a bottomless void of black. He looked at the damage rendered to his flesh, at the blood forming sick patterns on his shirt, the fresh splotches on the jacket, and wondered how he was still standing. Then the world began to go white.

A jolt of pain at the base of his skull snapped everything back into focus. He slumped against the wall he'd fainted into and slid to the ground, head bent between his knees. He counted his breaths—one...two...three...

There were medical supplies in the cabinet, pain pills on the countertop. His father kept a few changes of clothes beneath the sink. He could manage. He had to.

Cleaning the wound was relatively easy with one hand, but wrapping it proved to be arduous. In the end, Dib settled for a thin layer of bandages beneath the undershirt he borrowed and the suede jacket once again hung over his shoulder. The pain didn't gone away, but it improved, allowing more movement in his shoulder and fingers. He turned off the light in the bathroom and stepped into the laboratory, heading for a computer resting in the center of the workspace.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for—even less sure as to what he hoped to find. As his fingers dragged across the keys to open a remote link he contemplated starting with a date. The Membrane main compound had suffered a security breach almost a month ago when their systems had been tampered with. No viruses were found lurking in the computer code and only physical copies of data had been disturbed, leading police to believe it was the work of a rival research facility seeking to steal information. Dib had inquired out of casual curiosity as to what was taken but had never received a straight answer, and he'd never pursued the subject.

Before now, he'd never had a reason to.

"The sixteenth...here it is..."

His fingers moved with increasing speed across the keyboard. The computers in the facility were state of the art and omnipresent, a true testament to the ingenuity of Big Brother. Everything that happened in the laboratory was recorded and catalogued by date: every experiment, every conclusion, every keystroke on every keyboard—even the security camera feeds. Dib retraced what he felt the police would have looked through. First, he searched the network activity for the day of the breach. When nothing unusual stood out he widened his range, examining databank records reaching as far as three days in either direction. He poured through phone calls, key card access logs, employee movements. He then turned to the network code itself, checking for an internal virus the authorities may have missed.

Nothing. Quickly running out of ideas, he changed tactics. He had assumed the "physical data" stolen had been in the form of a disk or dummy file that could be accessed via a back door later. But what if it meant an actual computerwas taken, or a piece of one at least?

Though the computers in the facility were powerful and contained almost one hundred fifty gigabytes of storage per unit, the amount of information generated daily in modern research had the potential to reach a staggering total very quickly. To solve this problem a master databank, commonly called the "Library," had been set up in one of the basement rooms of the laboratory compound. Any data more than five years old was transferred onto a special storage unit and linked to the Library systems to prevent taxing the computers used in the rest of the facility for experimentation. If something had been stolen from data storage the only witnesses to the crime would have been the security cameras.

He turned to the digital recording system which, in addition to being organized by date, was also organized by location. The Library had four cameras monitoring it. By way of a split screen function Dib pulled up three angles of the room's interior and one angle of the hallway outside.

To be safe he started the playback at midnight on the fifteenth and screened each hour carefully to ensure he caught every detail. As far as he could tell the activity was fairly routine. Most of the footage was devoid of human life barring the occasional intern walking in or out to conduct research. Dib marveled at the habits people assumed in public—several men scratched their crotches, a woman walked by picking her nose, two male interns brushed hands while walking together down the hall. Nothing, however, sent up a flag for suspicious activity throughout day one, into the night, and throughout day two.

It wasn't until 10:32pm on the night of the sixteenth that a movement along the one of the walls caught his attention. It was so fast he was unable to stop the recording in time to freeze-frame. He rewound the footage and mapped the same spot on all three camera angles in preparation for another run-through; none of them showed a very clear picture. Shadows hid several parts of the room apparently deemed unimportant by whatever security company Membrane Industries had contracted to set up the network. He set the recordings into motion again and leaned forward in his seat.

There! He jumped at a quick flash along the left-most wall. He tried to pause but was, again, too slow. A few clicks of the keyboard and the playback began to reverse second-by-second. Every frame that came up empty only tightened the uncomfortable knot forming in his chest. Finally an object darted from the shadows in view of the camera. His heart stopped the moment he froze the playback; his skin went cold.

It was a detail the police easily would have missed. Dib could scarcely believe he'd caught it. Extending from a darkened corner a long, slender skewer fashioned to a deadly point cast a shadow on the wall towards the top of the west camera's sightline. To the casual observer it probably appeared as a random shadow, but Dib's attention was immediately drawn to a small ball located about a foot from its tip. He pressed play and, in a flash, the shadow withdrew back into the depths of darkness. Ten minutes later the cameras shut off.

Dib leaned back into his chair still uncomfortable with being this close, even in a virtual sense, to the creature that had almost killed him. He scoured the rest of the footage for any other signs of Zim but with no luck. The Irken had been careful. What was he after? What had he taken?

Dib's hands returned to the keys. He had to find out.

It took him two hours to run into the deletion logs. They were dated mere days after the police investigation ended—after his father would have realized what was taken. Someone else could have cleaned up, of course. All the assistants had administrative access.

_Think, Dib: Who else would have had an interest in files over ten years old?_

He thought throwing the keyboard across the room might help him figure it out.

--

Dib left the basement laboratory in a much different state than when he'd entered. His hand trailed along the wall as he dragged himself up the stairs one by one. The lights were off but he didn't care. He navigated his way by feel.

His left hand fell upon the cool metal of the door. The electronic lock to the side glowed a deep blue in the darkness. He entered in his code to unseal the laboratory. Membrane would know he was there, but he didn't care about that, either.

The crack of light seeping into the stairway told him it was clearly morning—another bright and beautiful day. He pushed open the door and stepped into living room but was immediately shoved backwards on the landing. He caught himself before falling down the stairs. There was a flash of purple hair and pale flesh before a second shove came, this time more forceful, and more intentional. He clung to the railing with his good hand, glaring up into the hallway.

"Dammit, Gaz! Not on the stairs!"

He'd forgotten about her, forgotten their altercation before stalking into the basement. She advanced on him with murder in her eyes—murder he'd balked beneath a thousand times before. But, in light of recent events, her anger was registering as more a petty nuisance than anything else. It was almost nine-thirty. He had an appointment to keep.

"You pushed me," she said. "I'm returning the favor."

"You're gonna break something!"

"With any luck it will be your fat head."

He grabbed her wrist as she reached for him again, yanking her forward off her feet. Too late he realized it was a stupid move. A fist connected square on his jaw—she'd always had a mean punch. The temptation to push her down the stairs was strong, but he ducked beneath a second blow and scurried forward, aiming simply to get out of the house.

"Don't walk away from me, Dib."

"Just stop it, Gaz! Save your demon routine for someone else! You wanted me to leave, I'm leaving, okay!"

"What did you take from dad's room?"

It was disgusting that the laboratory had always been referred to as their father's "room" since he never slept in his real one.

"Nothing!" He turned, "And what do you care?"

A vase sailed past his head. She'd merely been trying to get him to turn around. He rushed forward as he saw her reach for a lamp.

"Stop it!"

She wrapped her fingers around its neck, hoisted it into the air.

"Gaz, stop!"

He intercepted her swing, wrestling with her for a moment until she twisted it out of his grip.

"I SAID STOP IT, ZIM!"

She froze. Dib felt himself go numb as she straightened to look at him, eyes piercing into his soul. Finally, she smirked.

"Zim, huh? Haven't heard that name in a while."

He released her as if she'd caught fire.

"You knew."

He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. All those years he'd wandered aimlessly through his life touting a name and a voice and a mind that wasn't his own...she knew.

"Meh." She shrugged—as if she didn't care, as if it didn't _matter!_

"Why didn't you do anything!"

"And restart your babbling about aliens? No thanks. I figured he'd...paid you off or something, I don't know."

"Paid—paid me _off!_ I can't believe I'm hearing this! Do you even know what we're talking about!"

"Yeah. Dad fixed your crazy."

"I wasn't crazy!"

"Maybe not. But you were loud and annoying. He fixed that, too. You shouldn't go see him."

Dib clenched his fists at his sides; it was the only way to keep from slugging her. "Why not?"

"Haven't you figured it out, yet, idiot? Those projects in the basement? That's what you are. He won't have anything to tell you. I doubt he even remembers what he did. Or cares."

"I care! And you should care!"

"I don't. And that'swhy everyone thinks you're nuts. The world doesn't want to know why, Dib. It just wants to be left alone."

She started to walk away, heading up the stairs to the second floor.

"But that's just dumb!" he shouted at her back. "It's—it's—"

"I'd tell you to let it go, but you're not going to listen to me. If you're still down here when I come back I'm bashing your head into the TV."

--

"I'm here to see Professor Membrane."

His life was deteriorating into snapshots. The secretary was the gatekeeper of the professor's office. She stared at him now over the rims of her glasses from between strands of bushy gray hair as if he were a punk kid asking for her wallet. A gaggle of plastic bracelets clackedon her wrist as she brought her left hand up to remove her glasses from her nose. They thumped against her chest a few times as they swung by a beaded chain wrapped around the back of her neck.

"Excuse me?"

"I said: I'm here to see Professor Membrane." Dib glanced up at the heavy mahogany door resting behind her as he spoke. It was closed.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yeah."

She stared at him, then widened her eyes in exaggerated expectation.

"What, you don't recognize me?"

"Young man, do you know how many students come through this office each day?"

"I'm his kid! Hell, I _work _for him! I'm a researcher at the Membrane compound on Third!"

"I've never seen you before."

Dib leaned forward on the table with both his hands. "Maybe that's because you're always too busy chatting on the phone every time I come in here."

She glared at him. "I'm going to have to ask you to stay behind the desk."

Dib glared back but withdrew into a standing position. "Look, I have a meeting with him this morning at ten o'clock. Dib, his _own son_, made a damn appointment for ten a.m." He gestured to the door behind her. "You can call in there and ask him if you like."

"He's not in there."

"...What?"

"He's on a business trip to Europe and won't be back for another—Hey!"

Dib ran for the room, ignoring the receptionist's protests. He threw the door open so hard the knob punctured the drywall on the opposite side.

The size of Professor Membrane's office belied the eight-figure salary he brought home each year as the greatest scientist known in current times. His position at Iowa State was more for the university to capitalize on whatever positive fame surrounded him than because he needed the work. The public expected Membrane, as a Professor, to give back to the community. Hosting a children's television show and teaching the occasional college student were all good public relations moves...and effective ways to get in good standing with deep pockets for grants. Even Dib's father, with all his fame and personality, wasn't exempt from the workings of the economic machine.

Just as the secretary had reported, the professor's office was empty. As Dib absorbed the scattered papers across the desk and the stack of unread mail resting in the corner he felt her draw up behind him.

"That is enough!" she said. "This is private property! Now I don't know who you are or what you want, but you will leave this building immediately or I'll call security!"

Dib wasn't listening to her. He was scanning the room for a note, an explanation, _anything._ "Why did he extend his trip?!" he demanded. She raised her hands as he whirled on her. "When did he tell you?!"

Maybe his flight was delayed...Maybe terrorist activity shut down the airport...Maybe a nation full of dying children needed his help...

"He...called earlier this morning...around seven. He wanted to oversee the Oxford students for another week before he came back."

Dib stared at her, barely processing what she was telling him. Oxford? He'd been in England?

"...But I just spoke to him. He said he'd be back..."

The secretary was unsympathetic. "I'm calling security" she announced, and turned sharply on her heels to flounce out of the room.

Dib's eyes fell to his father's desk where dozens of different shades of white paper lay strewn across the glossy wood. The colors were starting to blur together when he blinked and turned his head away. He walked around the side of the desk, trailing a dejected hand along its edge. He could hear the secretary out in the hall talking to the security guards but he didn't care. Taking one last look at the empty leather chair, Dib raised his hand to his right ring finger and slid the gold band off over his bruised knuckles.

By the time the security guards arrived all they found was a ring, placed carefully in the center of Professor Membrane's desk.

* * *

One more chapter to go. We're almost home.


	10. Perfect Enemy

So sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long. I had some conflicting ideas on the last chapter and how everything would end. I probably should have clarified that it's more of a prologue than an ending, which is why it's so short. Honestly I didn't expect it would take me so long to finish.

I've learned about myself that I'm way better at smaller works than larger ones. So I plan to try and do strictly one-shots in the future. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me (and to the recent reviewers who gave me a kick to get moving!) I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have :)

* * *

Chapter 10

The fire had nearly a day to smolder itself into obscurity by the time Dib returned. Standing in the field eyeing the twisted wreckage of Zim's once-majestic ship elicited few inqueries from his mind, demanded few reasons why he felt he had to return. The most convenient answer was obvious—he'd stolen a truck, and the farmers deserved to have it back. But the excuse was awkward even to the part of him that wanted desparately to believe it.

He came back because...he had to. Because the familiar had been turned unfamiliar, the comfortable wicked. And, somehow, standing in the smoking remnants of wickedness put it all into perspective.

He sighed, gravel crunching beneath his feet as he turned to survey the smashed barn far in the distance. He'd parked the truck along the outside wall. Hopefully the farmers weren't too spooked to come looking for it. He'd been expecting to see an entourage of government agents swarming the corn fields, all staring intently at strange reading devices clicking away in their palms, but no such luck. Only part of him was surprised. A small, deflated, nearly dead part.

"So what do I do now?"

He spoke to no one in particular—the wreckage, maybe. Or Zim. He wasn't sure if Irkens believed in the afterlife, couldn't remember enough of his encounters with the alien to know if it had ever been mentioned. Maybe they believed in nothing. Or maybe Zim floated only a few feet away, a little green ghost, transparent fists quivering in comical rage just the way Dib remembered him. The way he was supposed to be.

A chuckle left his lips, dryer than the dirt beneath his feet.

"I'm screwed, aren't I?"

Not surprisingly, he didn't receive an answer. The wreckage didn't so much as shift, and if ghost-Zim did exist somewhere he wasn't interested in talking.

A breeze rustled Dib's hair as he glanced down the road. He hadn't given much consideration as to how he was going to leave—further testament to the fact he had nowhere to go. His cellphone had been discarded some hundred miles back, another piece of litter on a backwater highway. There was no one to talk to; no one to call. One step forward and he was walking aimlessly in a random direction...west, he thought. The gravel made rhythmic crunching sounds beneath the soles of his boots.

His mind danced in contrast to the steady rhythm of his pace. It spent time in his childhood, then at the party, Zim's base, college, adolescence, Zim's ship, then his childhood again; there was no method to how it wandered and Dib was content to leave it. He reveled in the simplicity of the situation minute after minute, step after step. It was a refreshing hiatus to a mind accustomed to constant activity. The horizon stretched before him, unfathomable—much like the mystery his life had recently become. Dib was so accustomed to order, control; it was terrifying and liberating to be freed from both structures at once.

_Did Zim do me a favor?_

The thought leapt, unbidden, to the forefront of his attention. Carefully, Dib examined the question. He puzzled every angle, projected his might-have-been future along the course he hypothesized it would have taken, then rewound and settled it firmly atop his current situation. Was he so much worse off? Or better?

He had always pictured himself successful, rich, happy. He would probably never have married or had children—his own experiences soured his desire to inflict a scientist/father's attention upon another human being—but he would have been famous. He would have been powerful, in a sense.

Dib stopped.

He would have been his father.

Now what was he? A nomad wandering a broken path. Some half-written script that had never been finished.

Dib turned. He could still see the smooth curve of the purple wreckage poking from the earth surrounded by hundreds of crushed corn stalks. It was a shame no one was around to see it, he thought. Actually, more of a waste. This was, after all, tangible contact with extraterrestrial life—and no small sample of it, at that. Not some blurry picture. Not some half-crazed conspiracy theorist sputtering about monsters from the stars. This was real and metal and _science._ It flew in Earth's atmosphere, it generated power to fuel its engines...

Excitement clutched at Dib's heart—the first flicker in a dead soul.

_I could make this work._

All he had to do was get _one _colleague to look at it. Just one person to consider the possibility, a friend or a research associate. He was respected now...they would listen to him. Pieces of the wreckage would be nice, but it would be even more impressive to have some of the technology...

...or a body...

Dib turned back towards the crash site, his feet moving faster. Before long he had broken into a run.

A body would be undeniable proof. If he could get that...he'd be famous. Rich and happy and famous. And, someday, humanity would thank him.

They would all thank him.

End

* * *

If you haven't noticed, every chapter in this work is named after an appropriate song. And none are more appropriate than the one the last chapter is named after. If you're bored and have the time, I'd recommend looking up the lyrics to them and having a listen. Feel free to email me if you need help with the artists.

Thanks again for hanging in there. After all, stories are nothing until they are read :)


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